


Dance for Me

by clicky797



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M, The Future Past DLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clicky797/pseuds/clicky797
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grima has risen and now rules all of Ylisse. However, his remaining enemies still have the Fire Emblem, without which he cannot take on his true Fell Dragon form. He needs the abilities of a Dancer to strengthen his army and destroy those who stand in his way. The young prince should do nicely...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So like I said this is my first ever fanfic! XD  
> It's kind of set in The Future Past DLC time but a lot of dead characters are still alive (like Chrom! :D)!  
> I haven't actually played much Fire Emblem. I just love the characters! So sorry if some of them don't sound right! XD  
> Hope you enjoy! ^-^

It was easier when he kept his eyes shut. 

Inigo had always cowered at the thought of people watching him while he danced. When he was younger he’d been far too shy to even talk about his secret passion, let alone perform in front of someone. The first person he’d shown had been his mother, who’d gathered him in her arms when he’d finished and peppered his red face with kisses. She’d positively beamed with delight, knowing that at least one of her children had inherited her unique talent. 

For some, dancing wasn’t just a hobby. It was a special ability, just as magic wielders had their tomes and knights their silver lances, albeit a much rarer and more unusual one than those. Olivia was one such person who possessed this power of dance. After watching her perform, a person would feel imbued with strength, agility and stamina. Apply that to a whole army of people, and you would instantly have a force unlike no other, ready to conquer the land. It was what had helped the Ylisseans win every war they’d faced. And after the newly crowned Exalt, Chrom, took Olivia as his wife, it was why no nation dared to raise their sword against them again. 

Until Grima. 

Inigo bit his lip as he felt his feet slipping against the stone floor of the throne room. His movements weren’t sharp enough. He could imagine his posture was terrible, his arms not making the precise shapes they were meant to. But still, he kept dancing, his eyes not daring to open until the routine had come to an end. When they did, they were met with the site of his father’s throne, but it was not his father who sat in it. 

“Not bad,” the human vessel of Grima sneered. “Not as good as your mother, but not bad.”

Inigo fidgeted nervously with the long sleeves of his outfit. He lowered his eyes to the steps that led up to the throne, trying to tune out the murmurs of the Plegians who watched from the sides. 

“Validar,” Grima barked to his tall, grey-skinned advisor, who stood slightly behind him. “What did you think?”

“Poor,” Validar sneered, and Inigo’s fingers tightened their grip on his sleeves. 

Of course, he agreed completely with the advisor’s comment. Olivia had promised to teach him how to dance properly herself, but that had been before this new war started. The war that had led to Grima’s possession of his father’s former tactician, and the overthrow of Ylisstol by the Plegians. He’d been kept prisoner in the castle ever since, along with his mother and older sister, Lucina. As for his father, well, Inigo wasn’t sure if he was still alive. He knew nothing of what went on beyond the castle walls. He could only assume that someone out there was still fighting, and succeeding in keeping Grima from his true form. 

Inigo wanted to snap at them, to ask Grima and Validar what they’d expected from his dancing? How was he meant to do it on demand, with complete strangers watching and judging him from every angle. It wasn’t something that could just be done, and yet they forced him to do it day after day, as if was some mule pulling a cart.

“It seems the little prince is reluctant to put any true effort or feeling into his movements,” Validary continued, addressing Grima. “Almost as if he does not wish to share his gifts with us. I must be mistaken though, surely. He knows what will happen if he does not please you, Master Grima.”

Inigo did know what would happen. He’d been told countless times: death. Not for him, but for what remained of his family. While he was forced to watch.

“I don’t have time for perfection,” Grima hissed, as his advisor wisely backed away. “Every moment I waste only allows the remains of my enemies to grow stronger. I will not have them gaining hope. It is time. Time to end it all.” 

“But my lord,” Validar stuttered. “I do not believe that he’s ready to be put to good use yet. It would be much wiser to use the Queen instead...”

Grima turned his head sharply to Validar, who immediately fell silent. 

“I have already made it perfectly clear. The Queen stays here. We will make do with him. Ensure the necessary preparations are made.”

Inigo finally raised his eyes to the throne. It still gave him chills to hear Grima’s deep voice coming from Morgan’s tiny body. He’d known the girl briefly in his childhood, remembered hiding behind her as they’d gawked at a giant insect in the castle grounds. But once Grima had conquered Ylisstol, she’d been brought before him and suffered the same fate as her father. It baffled Inigo as to how any being could be two separate people at once, but who was he to comprehend the power of the Fell Dragon.

Grima raised a hand and two Plegian dressed guards seized Inigo by his shoulders, forcing him to turn and march from the throne room. Inigo hissed as they pushed him roughly. Was the force they were using really necessary? He’d never given them any trouble, unlike his sister Lucina, who fought them every second of every day. He’d never been strong like she was, never had the desire or talent to handle blades or combat. 

Normally, after such performances, Inigo was taken back to the large room at the top of the castle’s highest turret, where Olivia and Lucina would be waiting. However, this time instead of being marched up the winding stairs to the left of the throne room, he was taken beyond the corridor and towards the castle foyer. 

“Wait a minute,” he panicked, twisting his neck back to the stairs. 

“No talking,” one of the guards ordered, giving him another forceful shove. “Keep walking.”

“But this isn’t right! Shouldn’t I be...”

The other guard struck Inigo hard across the face, almost knocking him off balance. He fell silent, his cheek stinging.

“Hey! There’s no need for that,” a quiet voice said from ahead of them. 

Inigo’s fists clenched at his sides. He knew that voice. Noire. The traitor. Of course Tharja hadn’t hesitated in abandoning her allies when her husband became Grima’s vessel. And Noire was her mother’s daughter, as she’d reminded him during countless unpleasant encounters in the past. He wondered how long it’d be until she became a vessel as well. After all, the Fell Dragon’s blood was in her veins, just like it was in Morgan’s. 

Despite her quiet, unthreatening demeanor, the guards were immediately standing to attention in Noire’s presence. Noire smiled weakly as she walked towards him. Inigo noticed she was dressed in armour. Probably heading out to slaughter more of her former friends. Just like she murdered Yarne, and Cynthia, and probably countless others.

“Is your face alright, my prince?” she asked. 

Inigo didn’t respond, only glared coldly. She reached out and turned his face gently, checking the red welt that had appeared in case any blood had been drawn. Inigo tore his face away when her touch lingered for too long. Noire frowned, disappointed. 

“I don’t want to see you harming Prince Inigo again,” she told the guards firmly, her fingers fiddling with the talisman that hung around her neck. “Understand? He is a valuable hostage to Master Grima and should be treated as such.”

The guards nodded, and Noire looked at Inigo expectantly. No doubt she expected some kind of thanks. He’d rather dance naked in the castle grounds. 

“You’re looking well,” Noire kept speaking. “That dancer’s outfit suits you.”

“Are you seriously trying to make smalltalk with me?” Inigo snapped.

“I thought you liked smalltalk with ladies. We could even go for tea if you like?”

“As I recall you killed the last lady I had tea with on the spot.”

“That wasn’t my fault. She disobeyed Master Grima’s orders. She had been told to keep away from you.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I share blood with Master Grima. I can do as I wish, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his orders.”

“Well as wonderful as talking to you is, I think I’d like to return to being imprisoned now, thanks. Let me go back to the turret.” 

“You’re not going to the turret.” Noire tilted her head, confused. “Weren’t you informed? Master Grima is sending you away.”

Inigo’s blood froze. What? He couldn’t go away. Not from his home. Not from what remained from his family. He felt his heart beginning to thump with panic, like someone pounding on a prison door to be released. This couldn’t be happening. Where was he being sent? Would he ever see Olivia and Lucina again?

“No, he can’t do that,” Inigo exclaimed weakly. “Please Noire, I can’t...”

“INTOLERANT FOOL!” Noire roared, her face crumpling in anger. “DARE YOU CONTEST THE WILL OF THE FELL DRAGON! I SHOULD CUT OUT YOUR TONGUE FOR SUCH INSOLENCE!”

Inigo shrunk away from Noire, aware of the guards doing likewise. 

“TAKE THIS UNGRATEFUL MAGGOT TO THE CARRIAGE!” Noire ordered. “AND ANY FURTHER INJURY HE SUSTAINS SHALL BE DELIVERED TO YOU TENFOLD!”

With that, Noire left them, to retrieve her bow and arrows. Inigo watched her retreating figure, wondering if it would do him any good to beg. He wasn’t too proud to do so if it kept him with his family. But he knew that Noire didn’t have the power to change Grima’s orders. No one did. 

The guards began to drag Inigo onwards again. He dug his heels into the carpet, twisting and struggling to free his arms from their grasp. They didn’t have as firm a grip as before, probably afraid of even bruising him after Noire’s outburst. If he could slip away, then maybe he could... he could what? Run away? He couldn’t leave his family behind. Return to the turret? They’d just come and get him, with more men and iron this time. Not to mention he’d have to listen to his mother and sister’s cries as he was taken off to gods know where. Sighing in defeat, Inigo ceased his resistance and walked obediently down the corridor, towards whatever fate Grima had planned for him.

*

“My Lord! I’ve just received word from our men in Ylisstol.”

Chrom looked up from the map he was plotting coordinates on. His loyal knight, Frederick, stood at the entrance of his tent, in full shining armor, breathing heavily. Clearly he’d run all the way here upon receiving the news. It must have been important. 

“Go ahead, Frederick,” Chrom said, setting down his compass. 

He’d been plotting the same route on the map for most of the evening. It would hopefully enable them to move their camp closer to Ylisstol, closer to his imprisoned family, who just had to be alive. But the work was much harder than Robin had made it seem. 

“I have heard that they mean to move the Prince,” Frederick said. “Beyond the walls of the city.”

Chrom felt a tightening in his chest. Inigo. His son had only just reached his hip the last time he’d seen him. How tall was he now? Probably just as tall as his father, maybe even taller. Chrom didn’t know. 

“Where are they taking him?” he asked his knight.

“We don’t know. Although it’s suspected that he’ll be transported to Grima’s stronghold.”

Nobody knew where that was. Chrom knew that his men would be able to follow the carriage from the city no problem. They could follow it to the stronghold and finally they’d have the location of Grima’s original host. But of course, there’d be no following the carriage inside. Not with the army of Risen he was bound to have stationed there. 

“Why him?” Chrom demanded, feeling the weight of an important decision settling on his heart. “What good is he to Grima?”

“We don’t know,” Frederick admitted. “Although... well, I’ve heard rumours that he can dance.”

Of course he could dance. The boy had taken after Olivia as much as Lucina had taken after him. Well, if Inigo had his mother’s abilities then allowing Grima to transport him to his stronghold was definitely out of the question. 

“Send word,” Chrom told Frederick. “Our men are to wait until the carriage is a safe distance from any of Grima’s outposts. Then launch an attack and retrieve my son. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Frederick said. 

He lingered nervously in the doorway, licked his dry lips. 

“But,” he continued. “What if a rescue mission is not possible? We don’t know how heavily escorted he will be.”

Chrom shut his eyes. Here it was: that horrible decision. His forces were struggling against Grima as it was. He knew his wife was being kept in Ylisstol as a distraction, so he didn’t go searching for the stronghold. But if Inigo could dance like she could, if he could strengthen armies with his movements, like she could...

“If retrieval is not possible, then tell Virion to put an arrow through his heart. For the greater good.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Chrom wanted to take them back. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let Grima’s armies grow any stronger than they already were. 

“Understood, my Lord,” Frederick said, then left him in silence. 

Chrom put his face in his hands and sighed deeply. Please oh please let the rescue be a success. Please allow him to see the fine young man his boy had no doubt become. And if needs must be, please oh please let Inigo understand. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. 

But this was war. If they wanted to win, then sacrifices had to be made.


	2. Chapter 2

_The palace gardens were filled with sunlight. Frederick had instructed the gardeners to fill all the flower beds with whatever colourful plants they could find - poppies, daffodils, pansies. They ran along the stone paths, leading whoever walked them past stone fountains and bushes resembling dragons and pegasus knights. The perfect fantastical environment for anyone who needed to escape the pressures within the castle._

_It was here, in the shadow of the largest fountain, that Inigo perfected his first dance routine. It would be a gift for his mother’s birthday, but he felt it was nowhere near good enough yet. If only he’d been lucky enough to have her natural grace..._

_Inigo quickly stopped his movement when he heard one of the bushes rustle. He immediately backed away, his back bumping the damp edge of the fountain. He knew he shouldn’t be afraid. The palace gardens were well protected. No one could harm him here._

_“Who’s there?” he demanded, cheeks flushing with the thought that someone had been watching him._

_A small girl stepped from the bushes, ducking her head and looking equally embarrassed. Inigo recognised the short, snowy white hair with the feather in it._

_“Noire. Were you spying on me?”_

_He didn’t think he sounded that angry, but when Noire looked up she appeared on the verge of tears._

_“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I thought the bushes would be a good place to hide. But then you came along and started dancing and... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been watching. I knew you’d get mad.”_

_Inigo didn’t need to ask her who she’d been hiding from. Tharja gave him the creeps as well. But she was the wife of his father’s best friend, so he had to tolerate her._

_“It’s okay,” he said, but Noire was already sobbing._

_Inigo slowly approached her, lifted her wet face from her hands. She stared at him with wide eyes, the same colour as the grass. He tried to smile reassuringly._

_“Don’t cry,” he said. “Isn't it much better to smile? Like this.”_

_Noire blushed and wiped at her eyes, stepping away._

_“You’re not mad?”_

_“I’m more embarrassed than anything. I’m sorry you had to see such an awful display.”_

_“It wasn’t awful. It was mesmerising.”_

_“Sure.”_

_“No, really Inigo. You’re an amazing dancer. I felt just as though I was watching your mother dance.”_

_Now it was Inigo’s turn to blush. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, suddenly wishing he could go hide behind a bush like Noire had been doing._

_“Please don’t tell anyone,” he said. “I want it to be a surprise. For my mother.”_

_“I won’t tell,” Noire promised._

_But later that evening, when her mother demanded to know where she’d been all day, Noire had no choice but to tell her all about young prince Inigo and his blossoming talent._

*

“HURRY THESE HORSES YOU IMBECILES!” Noire thundered at the men around her. “I want us to reach Master Grima’s stronghold by nightfall! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

From where he sat in the carriage, Inigo could hear the quickening of the horses’ hoofbeats. The poor animals must have been exhausted. They’d been running since they’d left Ylisstol, which had been last night, and Inigo didn’t recall them stopping at any point for a break. Clearly Noire was anxious to get to their destination before anything went wrong, which gave Inigo hope that something could go wrong for her.

Curiously, he brushed back the carriage curtain. The carriage was surrounded by at least a dozen Plegian knights, all equipped with silver lances and riding horses, and Inigo knew there were archers sitting atop the carriage as well. The knights were looking around anxiously, and rightly so. They were deep in the mountains now, passing alongside high ledges of stone, which reminded Inigo of the walls around Ylisstol, when they’d still stood. Inigo could see the shadow of trees to his left, a distant forest perhaps? Other than that, there was no sign of anything living anywhere, just grey stone and white ice, which had been dyed orange by the light of the setting sun. It was the perfect place to get ambushed.

“Don’t be afraid, my prince,” Noire said, appearing alongside the window on her white mare. “We will be out of here soon.”

Inigo shut the curtain again, settling back into the plush seat with her arms crossed. How could Noire not realise that he had nothing left for her but hate? It was her fault that Grima knew of his dancing abilities. If it wasn’t for her then he’d be in the turret right now, still trapped maybe, but with his mother and sister at least.

Inigo felt the carriage tilt upwards as they begun to ascend a steep slope. He held his breath, able to hear the horses breathing heavily, the wheels creaking beneath him. What would happen if the carriage suddenly broke free, he wondered? Would he die? That would certainly put a bump in Grima’s plan.

“COME ON! WHY ARE YOU FOOLS DALLYING!” Noire shouted, her eyebrows pinching together.

“It’s the horses,” one of the knights told her. “They’re spooked. We shouldn’t have come this way.”

Inigo couldn’t resist peering out the window again. Sure enough, he could see the knights’ horses shifting, trying to back down the slope. One of them had stopped and refused to move no matter how hard the knight kicked it. It’s distressed whines echoed off the stone. Suddenly, Inigo saw a shadow moving along the top of the high stone wall. He tried to look calm as he shut the curtain again.

Something was about to happen. He could feel it.

 

Noire wanted to scream in anger, and for once it had nothing to do with the talisman she wore around her neck. Everything seemed to be conspiring against her. First, she’d been allocated the most useless knights and archers in the land as her escorts. Then they’d gotten lost and ended up cutting through this stone death trap, which had made the horses jumpy and non-responsive. To top that all off she hadn’t slept in over a day and oh Naga she was just about ready to kill someone out of sheer frustration...

“Movement from above!” someone suddenly shouted.

Noire’s head whipped up to the stone ledge. She already had one of her arrows strung. She tried to get her mare to walk closer to the carriage, but the stupid creature wouldn’t comply.

“Fine,” she grumbled, dismounting.

She backed towards the carriage, her eyes never leaving the ledge. She’d suspected they’d encounter some sort of problem like this. Who were they? Thieves? Slavers? Whatever remained of the so-called resistance. Bring it on! She wouldn’t let any of them touch a hair on the prince’s head...

Noire had been an archer for most of her life, so she knew the sound of a flying arrow when she heard one. She ducked, just in time as an arrow sailed past over her head and sunk itself into her mare’s side. The horse reared, its whine full of all the pain of a human scream. Noire spun in the direction it’d come from and loosed her own arrow without a second thought.

“We’re under attack!” she shouted.

All hell erupted around them. Hooded men emerged upon the stone ledge. Arrows came flying down in an unforgiving barrage. Noire ducked under the carriage as the air became filled with the sounds of terrified horses and surprised men. She heard metal clangs, the tune of arrows that’d failed to meet their mark. Her

“Protect the prince!” she ordered, as her men struggled to climb down from their panicking horses.

Only the horses who were pulling the carriage stayed true, their eyes covered by circles of black leather. Noire emerged from her cover and fired more arrows up at the ledge. One hit a man in the chest and he tumbled down like a stone, falling a short distance from where she stood. Ropes were thrown down as some of the hooded men descended, swords drawn. Her knights were quick to meet their challengers, their fast strikes adding to the melody of the battle.

Noire kept firing and dodging arrows, carefully making her way to the fallen man. She pulled back his cloak and cursed as she saw the mark of the Exalt upon his uniform. So they were resistance fighters. Which meant...

Noire’s head whipped around as she heard glass smashing. She saw Inigo crawling through the broken window of the carriage, landing roughly on the dusty stone below. Noire could see red on his chest from where he’d been cut by the glass shards. She lost sight of him momentarily as a horse fled past, and then another of the hooded men fell, an arrow sticking from his neck.

Noire pushed past one of the knights. Inigo was struggling to stand. Noire could see the red patches on his shirt were spreading, like a drop of ink soaking into parchment. She wanted to shake him for being so careless. Only someone as air-headed as him could manage to seriously wound themselves on a window. Inigo was clutching his stomach now, clearly aware of the seeping blood. His eyes were wide as he stared around him, saw the arrows flying and the horses rearing and dying men screaming. Noire notched another arrow into her bow, aimed it carefully at the injured prince.

“Inigo!” she called to him.

He turned, no doubt saw that she was aiming at his head. And yet still he struggled to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. Noire’s eyes widened in surprise. She advanced towards him. There was no way he’d escape on her watch.

“Stop!” she shouted at him. “Get back in the carriage!”

Inigo said nothing, only continued to stare at her. His mouth was pressed into a scowl. Noire wanted to slap him. _Weren’t you the one who told me it was better to smile?_ She lost sight of him momentarily as one of the horses galloped past her, fleeing the scene with its dead rider still caught in the stirrup. Another hooded figure fell down from the ledge, almost flattening her. She darted aside, pushed a knight out of the way so she could keep the prince in her sights. He was already half way down the slope, clutching his stomach as he ran.

“INIGO!” she yelled, immediately giving chase. “STOP! HALT YOU UNGRATEFUL WRETCH!”

She notched an arrow, aiming it while she ran. She didn’t want to shoot him, but she also couldn’t let him escape. She could shoot him in the leg. That would stop him. But it would also make him unable to dance, and she doubted Master Grima would care about keeping him alive if he was no longer of any use to him. Another arrow sailed over Noire’s head. She snarled and spun, loosing it at the idiotic archer. She turned back. Inigo was heading towards the forest in the distance. She wouldn’t let him make it.

Noire released an arrow in his direction. It sailed right past his head, as she’d planned. Inigo stumbled, clearly caught by surprise, and to Noire’s displeasure he tumbled over his own feet and skidded in the dirt. She bit her lip, hoping he hadn’t injured himself any further.

“Oh Inigo,” Noire said softly, slowing into a walk.

Inigo was only a few strides ahead of her now. She saw him heaving himself to his feet, but he was limping as he continued to try to run. It was hardly a run at all now. Noire need only keep up her current pace and she’d catch him.

“Get away from me,” Inigo said, continuing to limp away. “I’m not going with you!”

“Where else is there to go?” Noire couldn’t help but smile fondly. “You won’t survive on your own out here. Grima is the only safe place for you. Even if you did find Chrom you’d-”

“My father’s alive?”

Inigo turned to her, eyes hopeful. Noire realised she may have said too much.

“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “Side with him and you’ll be killed by Grima’s forces, just like everyone else. He is going to win this war. The only safe place is by his side.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Inigo raised an eyebrow at her, and damn it Noire wanted to punch him in his pretty face.

“I’m not arguing with you,” she hissed. “Come here...”

She reached out to grab Inigo’s shoulder, and to her surprise the prince grabbed her shoulders. Before Noire knew what had happened, she was lying on her back in the ground, and Inigo was running again, this time with no limp. That sneaky little...

“INSOLENT FOOL!” she shouted, all guilty feelings about hurting the prince suddenly gone. “THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING! HALT OR I WILL END YOU!”

Inigo stopped running. Noire blinked in surprise. However, as she neared him, she saw it hadn’t been by choice. Running through the ground, between them and the forest, was a giant gorge. She could see nothing but darkness below. Inigo turned to her, his eyes filled with true fear. She raised her arrow to his face.

“No more games,” she said.

She glanced over her shoulder as she heard footsteps approaching. About time the knights showed up. Inigo was looking at her like a trapped puppy.

“Please, Noire,” he said, shaking his head. “Please. I can’t... I can’t...”

“What are you so afraid of?” Noire exclaimed. “Is it Grima? Do not fear him. I can protect you.”

Inigo continued to stare at her sadly. He took a step back. There was a rattling as the back of his foot knocked some stones into the gorge. Noire’s eyes widened.  

“Don’t!” she cried. “For Naga’s sake Inigo!”

“I won’t be used against Chrom,” Inigo said.

“Forget Chrom! Where was Chrom when Ylisstol was attacked? Where was Chrom when you performed your first dance? Who cares what happens to Chrom! Think about Olivia and Lucina! Think about those who care for you.”

Noire could feel her hands trembling.

“Think about me.”

There, she’d finally said it. Though it did nothing to change Inigo’s expression.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Noire said weakly. “I’ll make you happy. You can have a long life with me, Inigo. Please. Am I really so bad that you would choose the fall over me?”

Noire watched as Inigo’s eyes softened.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He stepped over the edge of the gorge.


	3. Chapter 3

Chrom couldn’t stand still. It was the middle of the night, and a frosty wind was blowing through the camp, making any tent flaps that hadn’t been tied shut billow like the ends of a dress. He couldn’t sleep. The group he’d sent to rescue Inigo would be back any moment now. 

“Milord,” Frederick said from behind him. “Please come inside. It’s far too cold out here.”

“I’m fine,” Chrom said with more anger than he’d intended. 

“Well at least wait near the fire. There’s still some broth left if you’re hungry.”

Chrom wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t eaten at dinner and he couldn’t eat now. Not until the rescue party returned. Maybe not even after that, if Inigo wasn’t with them. His hands were trembling. He was terrified. Either he would be reunited with his son tonight, after all these years, or he would never see him again. 

“He will be fine,” Frederick tried to reassure him. “You’ve sent good men to save him. Virion is the finest archer in Ylisse. And Gaius is hardly a stranger to stealing things from right under people’s noses.”

“I suppose,” Chrom said, but still he was shifting from one foot to the other. 

They stood in silence for a while longer. Chrom had the feeling that Frederick wanted to say something, but hadn’t the nerve.

“What is it?” Chrom sighed.

“Nothing important, Milord.” Frederick bit his lip. “It’s just... I couldn’t help but think how wonderful it would be if the rescue mission has proved successful. Not just for you, but for all of us.”

Chrom raised an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“Well if your son does truly have his mother’s gift, then what a fantastic tactical advantage that will give us in reclaiming Ylisstol.”

Chrom hadn’t considered that before. All his thoughts had been of how Grima would use Inigo against them, not how they could stand to benefit if he was successfully recovered. But he quickly killed the warm hope he felt growing in his chest. He’d think on this matter no further until his son was safely wrapped in his arms...

“There!” Frederick said, pointing suddenly into the night. 

Chrom’s hand automatically went to where Falchion was strapped to his hip. Habit after years of unexpected Risen attacks. As soon as the approaching figures were close enough for Chrom to tell they were human, and their allies, he rushed towards them. There were significantly fewer of them now than when they’d left. He saw Gaius pulling down the hood of his cloak, exposing his choppy red hair, and went to his side. 

“Blue,” Gaius acknowledged as he approached, but quickly averted his eyes. 

The normal mischievous spark he had was absent. Chrom immediately felt his heart plummet. The remaining soldiers had all pulled their hoods down now. None of them were Inigo. 

“Oh,” Chrom breathed, feeling numb. 

Of course. He should have expected this. Who was he to hope that he’d be able to best the Fell Dragon. Gaius put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Chrom hardly heard him. All he could think about was the last time he’d seen Inigo, when he’d left the castle on that final day before everything went to hell. Lucina had been dragging a sword that was far too big for her across the carpet, begging to be taken with him. He’d chuckled softly at her, ruffled her blue hair. 

“Be good,” he told her. “And keep an eye on your brother.”

He’d looked up for his other child then, seen him hiding behind Olivia’s leg. Chrom had had Henry and Vaike with him, neither of whom Inigo had met before. He stared at his son, wishing, not for the first time, that there was a way to get him over his shyness. He’d given him a smile, knowing full well Inigo would not run over to him while in the company of strangers. Then he’d left.

Chrom regretted this now, more so than he’d ever regretted it in the past. Why hadn’t he gone over to him? Scooped him into his arms, squeezed him tight and told him that it didn’t matter that he was shy, that he’d get over it some day and Chrom would be so very proud of him when he did? He wondered if the disappointment he’d felt at Inigo’s behaviour had been present on his face. The last memory his son had of him was of a father who didn’t love him enough to give him a hug goodbye. 

Chrom was aware that Gaius’ hand was no longer on his shoulder. He was talking to Frederick now, who was wearing his signature frown. 

“... was too many of them. Blighters were coated head to toe in armour. And Noire was with them. I still remember when she’d come round and play with Severa. Couldn’t bring myself to cut her down...”

Chrom saw Virion coming over to join them. He felt his fists clench at his sides. He knew that it had been his order but still... it was Virion who had no doubt fired the fatal shot. Virion who now had his son’s blood on his hands. Without thinking, he leapt at Virion, shouting in anger. He was abruptly caught by Frederick and Gaius, who struggled to hold him back. 

“Milord please control yourself!” Frederick urged.

“It wasn’t him, Blue,” Gaius exclaimed.

Virion was staring at him with wide eyes. 

“What?” Chrom said. “So he’s still alive?”

He wasn’t sure what he preferred: Inigo dead, or Inigo now being held inside Grima’s stronghold.

“Not exactly,” Virion admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

Chrom listened as Gaius and Virion recounted what they’d seen: how Inigo had made a bid for freedom, how Noire had pursued him, and finally, how he’d taken that step and thrown himself into the gorge. 

“Baby Blue died honourably,” Gaius assured him. “Knew he wouldn’t be getting away and so did what he thought was right.”

Chrom was silent, his arms going limp. Frederick and Gaius released him, watching cautiously. 

“I should have gone,” Chrom finally said, in a small voice. “I should have been there with you.”

“No,” Virion insisted. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“You don’t know that,” Chrom snapped. 

He turned away from the others, marched himself back to camp. _He would not cry. He would not cry._ Maybe if he’d been there, Inigo would have seen him. Maybe he would have run towards him, instead of going to the gorge. Or maybe Chrom could have cut down Noire as she’d given chase. He’d have done it. He would. No matter how much of Robin he may have seen in her features.

Chrom tied his tent flaps shut behind him, sat down and stared at the map. His plan of attack for reclaiming Ylisstol still wasn’t complete. If only he’d finished it already... With a cry of frustration, Chrom threw himself back into his work. There would be no sleeping tonight. Although it felt like his heart had been pierced by ice, Chrom knew that today should be considered a victory. They’d achieved something great: they’d ruined Grima’s plan. The Fell Dragon would be distressed, furious. They needed to make the most of this, before he came up with a new one. 

Wiping at his eyes, Chrom grabbed his pencil and began to jot down tactical notes. He’d failed Inigo, but he would not fail the rest of his family.

*

Gerome waited until all was quiet before making his way down the stone ledge. He’d been able to hear the fighting from miles away, and had instantly known that it would mean a chance to scavenge for goods. He needed a new cloak, the one he was currently wearing was severely tattered, and a decent sword would be nice too. So he’d waited in the shadows, as he always did, his black attire making him invisible to those waring below him. 

Now that everyone was either dead or had left, he made his move. He slid down one of the ropes that had oh so kindly been left out for him and went to the nearest corpse. It was still warm, the blood dripping from the arrow wound in his neck not quite clotted yet. Poor sap must have been alive long enough to bleed out. Gerome shook his head pityingly. That’s what you got for being reckless. 

The first corpse didn’t have anything interesting on him. Gerome found some coins in the pocket of the next, but what use were they out here. He scattered them on the ground, hoping they might entice some crows who could then dispose of all this soon-to-be-rotting flesh. The third corpse he came to was far more rewarding than the others. He was encased in armour and had a fantastic looking sword gripped in his stiff hand, one with a silver blade that didn’t look too worn... and was that a ruby on the hilt? 

Gerome wrestled it out of his grip, stood and held it out, as if he were about to dual with an unseen opponent. _Good balance._ He swung it, smiling at the clean sound it made, cutting through the air. _A decent swing._ But was the blade real silver or wasn’t it? If only Nah was with him. She was always good a deducing this sort of thing. 

Apart from the sword, Gerome didn’t find much on the dead men. One of them had a perfectly good cloak but it had been spattered with his blood, so Gerome had to leave it. He’d also seen a silver insignia sewn onto the uniform of one of the hooded soldiers. Not a symbol he was familiar with. Still, it was pleasing to look at, so he cut the patch of cloth from the man’s chest and took it with him. It would make a good rag to wipe his blade on.

His treasures secured, Gerome climbed back up the rope. The crows began to descend, as he’d hoped. Finally, he untied the rope, coiled it, and slung it over his shoulder. It was always handy to have on occasions like this, when Nah insisted she was too tired to go scavenging with him. 

Gerome began his descent back to the cave he called home. He’d moved in when his parents had left, claiming they needed to go fight in some war. Their village was fairly remote though, so they’d trusted Gerome wouldn’t get into too much trouble. How wrong they’d been. Gerome had left the next day, hoping his absence would teach his parents a valuable lesson when they returned. He’d then watched the following night as his village burned on the horizon, falling prey to some unforeseen attack. That was the moment Gerome realised his survival was only, and always would be, a mere matter of chance. Fate was the deadliest predator of them all.

Finally, Gerome reached the summit of the gentlest peak. Unlike the neighbouring peaks, his one was completely clear of snow. Nah made sure of that. Speaking of his lazy friend, he could see that she was still in the cave. An orange glow was flickering off the walls. As Gerome approached, he dipped his hands into the thin stream that ran over the roof of their cave, and down into the pond below, where a few weak pine trees dared to grow. 

“Nah,” he called, as he stepped into the cave and followed the curving tunnel deep into the mountain. “I’ve returned.”

He heard something scratching against the stone walls in a hurried, flustered way, and dreaded, for a moment, that Nah had brought back live food again. Gerome was therefore very relieved, when he rounded the corner, to see his friend curled up where she’d been this morning, a dead elk lying beside the fire. Gerome looked at her, looked at the elk, then set the coiled rope down in silence. 

“Where’d you get that?” he asked lowly.

“Where’d you think dumbass?” Nah said. “The forest.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Well I got bored. Seriously Gerome, you took forever! So what did you find?”

Gerome carefully unsheathed his new sword, holding it out for Nah to examine. She craned her long neck to look at it, but remained in her curled position, with her wings spread over her side. Strange.

“Very nice, very nice,” she said. “Anything else?”

Gerome showed her the cloth with the strange insignia.

“That’s all.” 

“What!” Nah exclaimed. “You’re telling me none of those dead guys had anything good? Wasn’t there anything shiny? Jewellery? Gold?”

“One had some coins,” Gerome said, untying his boots.

“And you didn’t bring them back? Are you serious?”

“We don’t have any use for gold.”

“Speak for yourself! We could have gone to a village! Bought a meal for once, instead of having to scavenge for it.”

Gerome looked at Nah and raised an eyebrow at her. It seemed to him that sometimes the manakete forgot that she was stuck in her dragon form. 

“What a good idea,” Gerome said. “So I take it you found your dragonstone then?”

Nah glared at him. Most people would have run at the sight of her, especially when she was angry like this. Nah was easily the size of a horse, with pink scales and wings lined with what Gerome thought looked like seaweed. The same stuff also clung to her arms, two tendrils of it sticking up from her narrow head, and a prong of it adorned the end of her tail. Her beady green eyes glimmered like pinpricks of light when she narrowed them. 

“I didn’t,” she said, and simply lowered her head. 

Gerome was puzzled. He’d definitely expected at least a playful swipe for that comment. What was going on? Nah’s head snapped up as Gerome stepped towards her. Now that he looked, he thought she was a bit more spread out than usual. 

“What are you looking at?” she demanded, too fiercely. “Nothing unusual going on over here.”

“Are you hiding something?” Gerome asked calmly. 

“What would I be hiding? What could I possibly be hiding? Look, I got you elk. Your favourite. Do you know how hard it is to catch an elk when the weather’s like this? I could have been blown to Valm and you’d never see me again.”

“Nah.”

“No Gerome! Don’t you use that tone of voice on me.”

Gerome said nothing, but kept staring. The black mask he always wore made his stares far more intense than they otherwise would have appeared. Nah lowered her head, sighing in defeat. 

“Fine.”

She peeled back her wing. Gerome stiffened. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. Nah had herself curled around an unconscious young man, probably no older than they were. He had blue hair, which lay in messy spikes around his head, and a smooth face and small features, that struck Gerome as quite delicate. Splotches of blood stained his blue shirt. 

Gerome was speechless. Had Nah finally gone mad? Had she swept this poor sod from some village for her dinner? He stared at her incredulously, and she wrapped herself tighter around the man. 

“Don’t be mad,” she said in a small voice. 

“What were you thinking?” Gerome finally said. “Where did he come from?”

“I saw him from the forest,” Nah said. “He fell into the gorge, so I caught him.”

Well Gerome couldn’t very well berate her for saving someone’s life. 

“But why is he _here_?” Gerome demanded. “Why didn’t you take him back to whoever he was with?”

“They weren’t his friends. They were chasing him. I think they wanted to kill him. I couldn’t have that. It’d be such a waste.”

Gerome’s mind flashed to the remains of the fight he’d scavenged. Had this man been a part of it? 

“Take him back,” Gerome instructed. “Someone is probably looking for him. We don’t want them finding us instead.”

“But he’s hurt, Gerome! Look!”

Nah nudged the man’s stomach. He winced in his sleep. 

“He’ll die if we leave him alone.”

“If fate wanted him alive then it would have stopped him from jumping into the gorge.”

“So what? Are you going to carry him back down the mountain all by yourself? I won’t help you. Not until he’s healed.”

“Fine,” Gerome muttered under his breath. 

He still had some strips of cloth that he’d scavenged the other week for bandages, and maybe a bottle of Vulnerary if he really looked. 

“But then we’re getting rid of him.”

Nah stayed silent, and Gerome knew immediately that this argument was far from over. He knew that when Nah grew attached to something, there was no separating her from it. And judging by the way she had herself protectively curled around the stranger, she wouldn’t be letting him go anytime soon. Once he had the homemade bandages, Gerome carefully cut open the man’s shirt with his knife, so he could get to the wound. 

And that’s when he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows how long this update a day thing is going to last for? XD Please leave some kudos or comments to keep me motivated! :D


	4. Chapter 4

Inigo wasn’t too sure when he’d lost consciousness. Maybe the exhilaration of the fall had knocked him out, or maybe it was the blood loss? Either way, he hadn’t expected to ever wake up. Maybe the bottom of the gorge had been full of pillows? Or a river that had washed him ashore? There was only one way to find out. Inigo opened his eyes.

And promptly froze in horror. A creature was looming over him, a big, scaly pink creature, which reminded him of the paper animals he’d made at carnivals during the better part of his childhood. Inigo stared agape at the creature, and the creature stared back. It didn’t look particularly angry or ferocious, now he thought about it. Its eyes were gentle. 

Inigo racked his brain, sure he’d seen a similar creature before. But where... oh! He remembered seeing it in one of his father’s books. The big one about the history of Grima and Naga. This creature was a dragon. Inigo gulped. Maybe he hadn’t survived the fall after all. Maybe this was the afterlife, and he was now sprawled in the Divine Dragon’s warmth?

“Naga?” he said to the creature, wondering if it could understand him. 

“Naga!”

Inigo bit back his surprise when he heard a voice coming from the dragon. A childish, female voice. She looked positively thrilled by his words. 

“Did you hear that? He called me Naga! Oh Gerome. Gerome, Gerome. I think I’m in love.”

It was only then that Inigo realised there was someone else beside him. He turned his head slowly, his neck feeling stiff. His eyes fell on a figure cloaked in darkness, face covered by a black mask that reminded Inigo of an elegant bat. What could be seen of his face was sharp and expressionless, cold and distant. His red hair was slicked back, like he’d been caught in a strong wind. He had a knife in his hand.

Now Inigo started to panic. He shouted in alarm, trying to back away, but the dragon was blocking him. The man just watched him in silence as he tried to stand and then collapsed. Finally Inigo just lay there, waiting for his erratic heartbeat to slow. 

“Are you quite finished?” the man, Gerome, asked calmly. 

Inigo was too breathless to answer. He looked down, noticed his chest was exposed. 

“Did you undress me?” he accused, mortified.

“What?”

“My shirt. Did you take my shirt off?”

Gerome looked horrified by the suggestion. 

“I did not undress you.”

“You kind of did,” the dragon chimed in.

“Shut up, Nah.” 

“This is so embarrassing!” Inigo said, flushing as he tried to cover himself. “Taking a man’s shirt while he’s asleep. What kind of perverted thief are you!”

“No! I didn’t undress you! I cut your shirt open to tend to your wound. It slipped off during your moronic struggling.”

“My struggling was moronic?” Inigo raised as eyebrow. “Tell me then, what’s the sane reaction to finding some guy in a Halloween mask looming over your naked torso? How do your poor victims normally react?”

“I don’t...” Gerome stuttered, struggling to form coherent words in his anger. “I’m not a thief. And I’m not a pervert!”

“Just who are you then?”

“That is of no consequence to you!” Gerome exclaimed. “You are in _our_ cave, receiving _our_ freely given care, sharing _our_ fire!”

“ _My_ fire,” Nah corrected. 

“And you should be grateful!” Gerome continued, ignoring her. “We could have left you to die! How about a little gratitude?”

Inigo was silent as he watched Gerome’s shoulders heaving with his deep breaths. Interesting.

“You’re right,” Inigo said. “I’m sorry. Thank you so much for ridding me of that shirt. It was a burden the moment I picked it out. And as for gratitude, well, how exactly did you want me to show it to you?”

Inigo bobbed his eyebrows enticingly, hoping to earn another amusing reaction from the masked man. But he was silent, the white eyes of his mask hiding whatever look he was giving Inigo. Inigo turned to Nah. 

“Is he glaring at me?” he asked. “Or have I worn him out? I can’t tell.”

“He’s probably oggling you,” Nah said playfully. “Gerome, you nasty pervert!”

“Right enough!” Gerome exclaimed, suddenly standing. 

Inigo smiled to himself. It seemed the masked stranger was exceptionally easy to wind up.

“You,” Gerome pointed a gloved hand at Inigo. “You are insufferable!”

“No, actually I’m Inigo.”

“I don’t care! Nah, I’m done. If you want me to bandage him then teach him to still his tongue!”

“Oh but I’d much rather you taught me how to do that,” Inigo grinned. 

Then, because he was feeling playful, he dropped Gerome a wink. The masked man gaped at him in disbelief, threw his hands up in the air and left the cave in silence. Inigo felt Nah chuckle. 

“I’ve never seen anyone piss Gerome off so much in so little time,” she said. “But in all seriousness, you do need to tone it down if you want that wound dressed. And trust me, it needs dressing.”

Inigo looked down at his stomach. He grimaced at the red, puckered wounds that stretched erratically across the soft part of his stomach. The skin around them was thick with clotted blood, which he suspected would soon be turning yellow if he didn’t get it cleaned and bandaged. 

“How did you get those wounds anyway?” Nah asked.

“Er...”

Inigo wasn’t going to tell her it’d been his own stupid fault for rushing to escape. But the carriage doors had been locked. Smashing the window had been the only way. He decided to change the subject.

“Sorry,” he said. “But I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Oh of course. I’m Nah. I’m a manakete but I’ve lost my dragonstone so I’m stuck like this until I find it. And you’ve met my tall, dark and brooding friend, Gerome. Sorry to say but yes, he is always like that.”

Inigo smiled. _Good_.

“And where am I? How did I get here?”

“Well I don’t want to brag or anything, but I saved your life. Caught you as you were falling into that gorge. We’re still in the mountains, but further up. No one comes here unless they’ve got a death wish.”

“I see.”

Inigo tried to stand again, but Nah eased him back down with her wing. 

“There’s no point moving until that wound’s been cleaned,” she insisted. “You’ll just start bleeding again.”

“But I can’t stay here,” Inigo said. “People will be looking for me.”

“Do you mean that white haired girl with the arrows? Trust me, she won’t be looking for you. She’ll think you’re dead.”

Somehow, Inigo didn’t think that would be enough. He suspected Grima would send wyvern riders to the bottom of the gorge to retrieve his body. No doubt the Fell Dragon would try reanimate him as a Risen, just to see if he’d still be able to dance. So what would happen when the riders found no body? Not even a trace of an impact? Grima would know he was still alive.

Before Inigo could voice his concerns, Gerome returned. 

“Remember,” Nah said quietly to him. “Be nice.”

“I’ll be better than nice,” Inigo assured her. “I’ll be charming.”

Gerome set a clump of weeds down next to the bandages. 

“What are they for?” Inigo asked. 

“They’ll help,” Gerome said, not looking at him. “Stops infection from spreading. Drink this.”

He handed Inigo the Vulnerary. Inigo cringed as he gulped it down. Vulneraries always smelt as though they’d be sweet, but they tasted like chives and pumpkin. While he was drinking, Gerome crushed the weeds and mixed them in a wooden bowl with some water to form a green paste. 

“Hold still,” Gerome said, when the medicine was ready. 

“Okay,” Inigo grinned. “Just promise me you’ll be gentle. I’ve never been touched like this by another man before.”

“Nor by a woman either, I’ll bet,” Gerome said.

Inigo laughed.

“Says the man who lives alone with a dragon in the middle of nowhere?”

Gerome said nothing as he got a good amount of the paste on his fingers. He spread it on Inigo’s wounds. Inigo gasped as the open flesh began to burn. He glared at Gerome with wide eyes. 

“Oh, perhaps I should have warned you,” Gerome said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “The paste will sting. A lot.”

“Thanks,” Inigo hissed through his gritted teeth, trying not to squirm too much.

“You’re welcome.”

 

Gerome took his sweet time washing away the remaining paste from his fingers when he went outside to refill the bowl with cold water from the stream. Inigo would probably start at how cold it was. Clearly he wasn’t used to the extreme conditions that Gerome was used to. He wondered, once again, how it was that someone like Inigo had come to be in the mountains. He wasn’t dressed as a soldier, and from what Gerome had seen, his body was too lean and soft to be practical on the battlefield. So that had to mean that he was being escorted by the slaughtered men Gerome had found, which would place him as the son of a nobleman, or some other wealthy profession. But still, where had he been heading to? 

Gerome knew he could have just asked the smaller man, but he didn’t want to seem interested in him in any way. He was still set on dropping him back on the road as soon as his wound was healed, maybe Nah would be nice and drop him close to a village, so he could send word to whatever rich family he’d come from for help. She had certainly taken a fast liking to him, but then again she’d always had a soft spot for pretty things. 

When Gerome returned to the cave with the icy water, Inigo and Nah were still curled up together. Inigo looked exhausted. Clearly it had been a very long and eventful day for him. He didn’t even look up as Gerome approached. Gerome made the most of this and quickly splashed the cold water over his wound. Inigo screamed in shock, jolting upright. Gerome resisted the urge to smirk.

“You jerk!” Inigo exclaimed, falling back against Nah. 

“Forgive me,” Gerome said. “My hand slipped.”

He watched the trail of water carry the remnants of the blood and paste towards the fire. It hissed at the contact. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm,” Nah assured him, snuggling closer.

“Now my pants are soaked,” Inigo grumbled. “All part of your master plan to get me naked, I presume?”

Gerome didn’t respond. He had some spare clothes that should fit Inigo just fine, but the other boy didn’t need to know that just yet. He grabbed one of his rags, the new one with the silver insignia, and threw it to Inigo so he could clean himself up. Inigo caught it and held it up, his eyebrows pinching together. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked. 

“Off a dead man,” Gerome said.

“Pretty, isn’t it,” Nah said happily. 

“No, but _where_?” Inigo prodded, and Gerome was surprised to hear a serious note in his voice for once. 

“Down on the road. From the remnants of the ambush.”

“The ambush?”

Inigo fell silent, his gaze growing distant. He was still just holding the rag while the cold water trailed down his skin. Gerome rolled his eyes and took it off him. Sure, he’d done everything else up until now. Why stop?

“Does that insignia mean something to you?” Gerome asked, but definitely not with interest. 

He didn’t care. Inigo said nothing, continuing to stare into space. Gerome noticed his eyes were almost as blue as his hair, though one looked obscured by something, probably a trick of the light. Eyes narrowing, Gerome leaned closer. It wasn’t a trick. There was a mark in Inigo’s eye. It was an exact replica of the insignia. 

“Gerome, I think you’re getting a bit too close for comfort there,” Nah warned him, though Inigo still didn’t seem to have noticed. 

What was he thinking, Gerome wondered. What was the significance of such a symbol? Inigo’s eyes shifted to Gerome’s. They were glistening like the still morning pond. Gerome panicked. Dear Naga, was he going to cry? 

“Erm, I’m sorry?” Gerome tried.

He really wasn’t well versed in helping others deal with emotions. Nah sighed and shifted, uncurling herself from around Inigo. She stood, stretching her legs.

“Why don’t you get him some new clothes?” she suggested. “And a blanket. I don’t want him to catch a chill while I’m not here to keep him warm.”

Gerome fetched the items, unsure what Nah was planning. He handed Inigo his new clothes, which consisted of some brown pants which were too small for Gerome, and a pale blue shirt, similar to the one he’d previously been wearing. Inigo gave him a weak smile as he examined them. 

“And here I was expecting you to bring me something revealing,” he joked, but it lacked his energy from earlier. 

“Are you hungry?” Nah asked. “I got elk but it’s a bit tough. You like rabbit? Everyone likes rabbit. I’ll go find you some nice rabbit.”

Nah gestured her head to the exit, and Gerome realised he was meant to follow her. 

“Will you be okay here on your own for a few moments?” she asked Inigo sweetly. 

“Sure.”

“Perfect. I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

Gerome followed Nah outside. The sky was darker now, and not just from the lack of sun. Gerome could see storm clouds rolling in from the north. 

“What are we doing out here?” he asked. 

“Going on a little trip.”

“To where?”

Nah lowered her body so he could climb onto her back.

“I think it’s about time you showed me this ambush site.”

*

“What?” Grima roared. “Dead!”

Noire lowered her head so she wouldn’t see Grima’s anger twisting her father’s face. Why had she bothered continuing on to the stronghold? Had it even been her decision? She remembered very little after the moment Inigo had taken that final step. Maybe the knights had carried her here, not knowing what else to do with no one to give them new orders? Now here she stood, in the middle of a brown, stone room, which looked just like a hollowed out mountain. There were even tunnels up above, leading into howling darkness.

“We were ambushed,” Noire said, trying not to let her voice shake. “It was the Shepherds. They knew we would be transporting him. But at least they didn’t get him either. That’s good, right?”

Grima’s eyes were fierce and red as they glared down at her. If she was anyone else she knew she’d be dead right now. 

“I expected better from one of my blood,” Grima hissed. “But you fail me. Time and time again, you fail me.”

“I will make this right,” Noire insisted. “Just tell me what I need to do! I can fix it, father...”

Noire clamped her hand down over her mouth. _Master_ , not _father._

“I’m sorry,” she spluttered. “I meant Master. Master.”

Grima rose from his black throne. He drifted towards her, the cape of his dark mage’s outfit trailing behind him. He had a sickening grin on his face. 

“That is the trouble with you, Noire,” he tutted. “You’re too soft. Too human.”

He picked up the talisman that hung around her neck. She wanted to snatch it away, but she dared not move. 

“I need more from you. More strength. More hatred. It was your weakness that let the prince escape, was it not? When he was in your reach, it was your tenderness that allowed him to evade you.”

“DARE YOU MOCK ME, WRETCH!” Noire shouted, unable to prevent the outburst.

Grima dropped the talisman. It thumped against Noire’s throat, much colder than before. Noire stood frozen.

“If only you could be that way all the time,” Grima sighed.

“I can be,” Noire insisted. “Master, just tell me what you wish for me to do, and I will see it done.”

Grima clapped his hands together, two sharp echoes. Noire heard screeching from overhead. She looked up, in time to see three shadowy beasts descending. Black wyverns, with thick purple mist, the colour of poison, drifting in their empty eye sockets and between their jaws. Men sat on their backs, bows slung over their shoulders, but Noire knew they were mere puppets, with no will of their own. 

“Return to the gorge,” Grima commanded her. “And bring me what remains of the Prince.”

Noire felt sick. She didn’t want to see Inigo, not as a splattered corpse, and most certainly not as a Risen. But she had no choice. 

“Of course, Master,” she said, climbing onto one of the wyverns, slipping herself in front of the rider. 

He was ice cold against her back. Noire shivered. How long had this form been deceased?

“It’s a shame I cannot make a Risen dance,” Grima sighed. “But never mind. I’m sure the familiar addition to my army will be enough to make the Exalt’s sword falter.” 

Noire nodded in agreement. She’d already decided she would leave this place as fast as she could, once her mission was complete. She wanted to go back to Ylisstol, to be with her crazy mother and the shell of her sister. She would try to revive the palace gardens, or at the very least clean a specific fountain. Just so she could have somewhere to sit, to dream about the man she’d loved and lost, and how different things might have been.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took me so long to do! I probably won't be able to upload one chapter every day anymore, but I'll definitely try to at least get one done every 3-5 days.

Lucina and Olivia weren’t used to visitors. The only time anyone came to visit them regularly was during meal times, when a Plegian guard would bring them food, or during the early evening, when Inigo would be fetched for dance practise. Lucina always felt anxiety bubble in her throat whenever she saw those heavily armed brutes taking her defenceless little brother away, worried he wouldn’t return to them. And last night, her fear had come true.

No one told them what had happened to Inigo. He had simply not returned, and the guard who brought them breakfast the next morning refused to share any information with them. Now evening was falling again. It was almost a whole day since they’d last seen Inigo. The room they shared felt empty without him. 

Although they were both prisoners, they were valuable ones, and so they had been kept in comfort. The room they shared was the same size as a cross section of the wide tower, so there was plenty of room for exercise. It had a high ceiling, with plenty of cross beams that Lucina enjoyed climbing on. Besides beds, they’d been given books and writing equipment, spare clothes and bars of soap that smelt like lemons. Once a month, they were allowed out of the room and down one flight of stairs to the balcony that ran around the turret. It was the only time Lucina could inhale fresh air. 

Although the room had a series of thin windows, none of them opened. Lucina had been tempted to smash them a few times, but they were far too small for her to fit through. Plus, Grima would probably get mad and punish them for trying to escape. However, today Lucina felt like evoking the Fell Dragon’s wrath just out of mere frustration.

Her mother hadn’t eaten since Inigo went missing. All day, she’d stayed sitting on her bed, staring sadly at the door. Lucina didn’t know how to console her. If only they’d known he wouldn’t return. At least then her parting words could have been a farewell, instead of whatever she’d said (she couldn’t even remember what it’d been!). They’d spent the day in an awkward, tense silence, which was only broken that very evening, when they heard keys grinding in the lock of the door. 

Olivia was immediately on her feet, her eyes wide with hope. Lucina was less optimistic. Her shoulders tensed when the door opened, and Tharja, dressed elegantly in black, walked into the room with a thin smile. Olivia’s expression instantly fell again. Lucina subtly reached behind her, taking a quill from the table. Tharja had never visited them before. 

“It’s cosy in here,” the dark mage said, as she stepped into the room. 

She waved her hand lazily, and the door swung shut behind her. Not locked, Lucina realised, just closed. She watched her mother’s nose crinkle with suppressed anger. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, in what was probably supposed to be an aggressive fashion. For her at least.

“I just thought I’d stop by,” Tharja said casually, examining the spine of the book Lucina had on her bedside. “See how you’re both coping. My condolences, by the way.”

“So it’s taken you all these years to finally come and gloat?” Olivia’s glare was like molten steel. “Tell us, Tharja, was it always your intention to betray us?”

Tharja held up the book and let it thunk messily to the ground. Lucina ground her teeth. She better not have lost her page...

“Let me ask you something, Olivia,” Tharja said, with a pleasant smile. “If our positions were reversed, if it were Chrom who’d been claimed by the Fell Dragon and not Robin, would you stand where I do now? Would you stay by your husband’s side?”

“No. I would do what was right. Chrom would want what’s best for Ylisse.”

“Spoken like a true naive fool,” Tharja smirked. “And what about you, little princess? Would you raise your sword against your father?”

Lucina didn’t rise to the bait. The night Grima returned and stole Ylisse from her father, she’d fought against the Plegians who stormed the castle. When she’d been disarmed and taken away, they’d crooned at her, called her ‘poor little princess’ and other patronising names. She wasn’t a child anymore. She wouldn’t let such names enrage her. 

“Hmm.” Tharja turned away from her after it became apparent that she would receive no answer. “And there we have it. The noblest lies in the land. I swear to you, Olivia, if our positions were reversed you would do no differently than I. You don’t realise how far you’ll go for the one you love until the decision is before you. But enough about that. Despite what you think, I didn’t come here to talk about the past. I’m speaking about the latest tragedy to befall your family.”

Lucina’s grip around her hidden quill tightened. She could feel ink dripping from the nib, probably staining her fingers blue. Olivia went very quiet. Tharja looked at both of their blank expressions and chuckled. 

“I assume you haven’t heard then. Shame. I hate to be the bringer of bad news.”

Lucina seriously doubted that. 

“I’m afraid poor prince Inigo met his untimely demise last night. He’s dead.”

“Lies,” Lucina hissed, the first words she’d said since Tharja entered. 

The dark mage’s eager eyes turned to her, as if she’d been waiting all this time for her response. 

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “I heard it from Grima himself. You’ll be pleased to know that he too is disappointed by the prince’s death.”

“ _Disappointed?!_ ”

Lucina was livid. Disappointed? Disappointed! Her feelings at this time went far beyond that. To think that Tharja could even try to compare their grief to Grima’s feelings... it made her see red. She felt the back of her eyes prickling. Inigo couldn’t be dead. She’d promised Chrom she’d keep an eye on him. Those had been her parting words. She looked to her mother, but Olivia was still and silent, like she’d turned to stone. Her eyes never left Tharja. 

“But don’t fear,” Tharja said softly, as if she had the power to comfort either of them. “I’m sure you will be permitted to see him once Grima has brought him back...”

Lucina charged, quill raised high like a dagger. Too late she realised she should have kept the weapon concealed until the last possible moment. Tharja raised her hand and froze her in place, looking utterly amused at her so-called surprise attack.

“Really,” she tutted. “And what would have been your plan after...”

The rest of her sentence was cut off as Olivia launched herself at the dark mage. Lucina had never seen her mother move with such ferocity, like a mountain lion protecting her cub. Her teeth were bared, eyes merciless, as she clawed at Tharja’s wrists, trying to pin them to her sides. Tharja herself couldn’t have looked more surprised, with mad eyes widened and her gold headband crooked. Lucina felt the spell release her. 

“Go!” Olivia shouted, her voice tight with fury. “Lucina go! Get out of here! Now!”

Lucina had never heard her mother speak like that. She did as she asked, ripping the door open. She didn’t look back as she rushed down the spiral staircase, her heart thumping. What was she doing? Where was she going? She could still hear Olivia and Tharja shouting behind her. Unfortunately, as the door was now open, so could every guard in the turret. 

Lucina heard their metal footsteps clattering against the steps from below. They were coming. She cursed, though deep down she knew she wouldn’t be leaving through the front door. But where else could she go. 

_The balcony,_ she realised, quickening her pace. She needed to make it to the bottom of this flight of stairs before the guards made it up theirs. Of course, they both arrived on the floor with the balcony at the same time. Luckily, Lucina had the element of surprise on her side. The guards hesitated briefly when they saw her standing there, probably shocked that she was actually trying to escape, and that was all the time Lucina needed to make a dash for the balcony.

“You!” she heard the guard bellow from behind her. “Halt!”

She didn’t. Not even when she reached the metal railings. Hoisting herself over them, she just about had time to check that there was something she could land in to remain relatively unharmed before silver arms were reaching to grab her. Lucina jumped. She didn’t know if she’d survive the fall. But even death was preferable to being Grima’s captive. 

*

“There it is.”

Gerome held on tightly as Nah made her sharp decent towards the road. She landed roughly, a force which had sent Gerome rolling off on numerous occasions, and skidded to a stop. Through the haze of dust her impact had sent up, Gerome heard the startled caws of the crows who’d probably been feasting on the remains. He heard their wings rustling, but lost sight of them against the black sky. 

One of the corpses suddenly burst into orange flames. Gerome spun to Nah, who looked unconcerned. 

“Why did you do that?” he demanded. 

“I need to see if I’m going to work out what happened here,” Nah said. “Don’t assume everyone sees in the dark as well as you do. Ooh.”

Nah’s eyes glittered as she saw the coins Gerome had scattered on his previous visit.

“Focus,” Gerome reminded her. 

“Oh yeah.”

Gerome watched in silence as Nah examined what remained of the corpses, sniffing them and prodding them with her snout to roll them over. Gerome wasn’t sure what she expected to find. He’d already extracted anything worthwhile a few hours earlier. Nah finally came to one of the knights, who Gerome was pretty sure had been escorting Inigo. She took one whiff of him and growled deep in her throat. 

“What is it?” Gerome asked, startled.

“Just as I thought,” Nah hissed. “I would no sooner forget that stench than I would forget how to fly. This man carries the scent of the Fell Dragon. Grima.”

Gerome recoiled in horror. Even isolated in the mountains as he was, he knew of Grima. The one who had brought about ruin and destruction throughout the land. The one his parents had been called away to fight. The one who had probably killed them on the battlefield and burnt down his defenceless village. 

“Grima,” he repeated quietly. Even saying the name made him tense with dread. “Are you sure Nah? Are you absolutely sure this man worked for Grima?”

“Trust me,” Nah said seriously. “I remember the scent of the one who killed my mother.”

Gerome cursed. He kicked at the body and cursed again. 

“Dammit!” he exclaimed. “Dammit all! This man was one of Inigo’s escorts. Does that mean Inigo is with Grima?”

Nah looked mortified. 

“Of course not! He wears the same colours as those I saw chase Inigo into the gorge.”

Gerome was doubtful. Nah didn’t have amazing vision when it was dark, and she’d been far from whoever was chasing Inigo. He believed what he had seen: these men dying to protect Inigo. Whoever the infuriating boy was, Gerome was one hundred percent sure he was in league with Grima. There was a reason that someone had organised an ambush to kill him. 

“No!” Nah exclaimed, recognising the stubborn look on her friend’s face. “Gerome I’m telling the truth!”

“Did he have Grima’s scent on him?”

Nah was hesitant, averting her beady eyes to watch the fire she’d made. 

“A bit... but so would anyone who was a captive!”

“A captive? You think he was Grima’s prisoner?”

Gerome wanted to laugh. Inigo had zero use to someone like Grima, unless the Fell Dragon was looking for someone to flirt with. Though the thought of Inigo smiling and jesting with Grima the same way he’d been jesting with him earlier made Gerome feel slightly nauseous. 

“I hate to say this, Nah,” Gerome said. “But Inigo’s played us for a couple of fools. Grima doesn’t take captives, and even if he did they’d have to be of some significant use to him.”

Nah’s heard whipped around sharply and she snarled, teeth bared. Gerome’s grip on his axe tightened momentarily, his first thought that she would attack him. However, it wasn’t him she was snarling at. Gerome whirled, hand still clasping the axe, and saw something purple drifting through the air towards them. 

“What the...”

“Risen,” Nah hissed, her tail curling. 

They were Risen, three of them, astride demonic wyvern. Gerome watched cautiously as they circled them overhead, before slowly descending and perching on the ledge around them. He backed towards Nah, who was still snarling fiercely. He felt her tail wrap around his waist protectively. One of the wyverns hopped from its perch and landed a few metres away from them. Gerome’s eyes narrowed as a figure climbed off it, one who clearly wasn’t Risen.   

“Hi there,” the girl said. 

She had short white hair, a headband with a feather wrapped around the straight locks. Gerome saw a bow slung over her shoulder. If not for the undead wyvern rider at her side, he wouldn’t have eyed her as a particular threat. 

“Gerome,” Nah whispered urgently from beside him. “Gerome that’s her! That’s the girl I saw chase Inigo into the gorge.”

Gerome unsheathed his axe, making sure the girl could see its sharp edge in the light of the fire. 

“Evening,” he said to the girl.

The girl’s eyes trailed over his axe, up his arm and to his face. Then they slid to Nah, who was still growling quietly at his side. 

“It’s a bit dangerous to be out alone in the mountains, isn’t it?” she asked sweetly. “All sorts of nasty things up here.”

“Who says I’m alone?” Gerome kept his tone cool and composed. 

“What are you even doing here?” The girl took a step towards him. “Looking for supplies?”

“Just passing through,” Gerome insisted, still painfully aware of the Risen riders surrounding them. “Found the remains of this ambush and thought I’d check it out.”

“Oh? And who says it was an ambush?”

Nah glared at him, but Gerome kept his eyes on the girl. 

“Some of these men died from a fall,” he told her. “Probably from the ledge. And I found ropes hanging down. You wouldn’t have time to get up there in the midst of a fight. They had to have been up there already. Therefore: ambush.”

“Impressive,” the girl said. “I wonder are you equally observant when it comes to finding things?”

“Depends.”

Gerome was almost certain that she knew why she was here. She was looking for Inigo. It had to be that. And the presence of the Risen meant she was definitely one of Grima’s minions. 

“I’ve been charged with finding something that holds a lot of value for my master,” she said. “But I haven’t been able to find it. Which leads me to believe that someone else might have gotten to it before I could. Someone who lurks around corpses and has the means of getting in and out of deep places.”

Her eyes went to Nah. The implication of her statement was clear. 

“Tell me,” she demanded. “What have you found up here, while you were just ‘passing through’?”

“We should be off,” Gerome said.

Suddenly, the girl’s expression sharpened into a vicious scowl. 

“DARE YOU LIE TO ME FOOL!” she thundered, making Gerome flinch. “DO YOU THINK I’M AN IDIOT?”

The wyvern behind her began to growl. Gerome mentally assessed it, deciding where he would place his axe if it suddenly attacked. A quick chop to the neck should do the trick of dismembering its head. 

“We don’t have what you’re looking for!” Nah hissed. “We only take useful things. Like swords and food.”

The girl seemed to compose herself. 

“Why do you assume the item I’m looking for isn’t a sword? Or something else that would be extremely useful to two outcasts like yourself?” the girl asked, stepping closer yet again. 

Gerome knew the moment he raised his axe against her, the wyverns would spring into action. But she was definitely beginning to get too close for his liking. 

“Maybe it’s because you know what I seek. You know because YOU HAVE FOUND IT AND TAKEN IT FROM ME! BLOOD AND THUNDER! I WILL MOUNT YOUR HEADS ON SPIKES IF YOU DO NOT GIVE HIM TO ME NOW!”

Gerome let the axe fly from his hand. The girl ducked, as if she thought he’d be aiming for her, and the weapon met its mark and buried itself in the wyvern’s head. The beast collapsed, like a deflated puppet, and vanished into smoke. The rider opened its toothless mouth and moaned angrily. 

No sooner had the weapon left Gerome’s hand, he had leapt onto Nah’s back. The dragon bellowed fire in the direction of the other two Risen, who swerved off course to avoid it, crashing into the stone ledges on either side, and then she bounded into the air, wings snapping open and catapulting them away from the ground. Gerome saw the girl reaching for an arrow. 

“Incoming,” he told Nah, who’d already seen what he had. 

She continued to rise, higher and higher. It was times like this that made Gerome glad her always wore black. He spread out his cloak, smoothing it over Nah’s pink hindquarters. They were now invisible to the archer in the night sky. That didn’t stop her though. She screamed, a sound full of frustration and fury, and then began to fire arrows randomly into the sky. 

“PATHETIC CREATURES!” she yelled. “HOW DARE YOU FLEE LIKE COWARDS! RETURN AND FACE ME! YOU SHALL NOT KEEP HIM FROM ME! BY MY BLOOD YOU SHALL NOT! HE IS MINE!”

“Dear Naga,” Nah mused, as they watched her from above. “No wonder Inigo jumped.”

Gerome let the thrill he felt at successfully escaping fade. That’s right. They still had to figure out what to do with Inigo. 

“Gerome,” Nah sighed. “I can hear you thinking. Don’t. Inigo isn’t on Grima’s side. For whatever reason, he’s a valuable captive. Please accept that.”

“But why?” Gerome asked. “Who is he?”

“Why don’t you ask when we get back. Or is seeming uninterested such a vital part of your plan to win his affection?” 

“He’s not here, Nah. No need to make those sort of jokes.”

“No joke, my friend. I’ve known you a long time, Gerome. That mask doesn’t cover nearly as much as you think it does.”

Gerome was thankful to see the two remaining Risen riders ascending towards them, effectively ending that conversation. He pulled out his new sword, ready for the combat. But Nah was already ahead of him. She roared and thrust her claws into the first wyvern’s side, her jaws closing in around its neck. Gerome kicked the rider off, watching as the second wyvern swerved to avoid him. There was a terrible ripping noise and the wyvern in Nah’s grasp turned to smoke. She grinned, black blood dripping from her sharp teeth. 

Gerome raised his sword to block the attack of the second wyvern rider, efficiently disarming him and skewering him through the chest. Before Nah could rid them of the second wyvern, however, it suddenly dropped and swooped back towards the ground. 

“Stop it!” Gerome urged her, but the scary girl was still below them, arrow raised to the night. 

She jumped onto the wyvern as it passed, the remaining rider joining her, and both of them  flew back into the shadows they’d arrived from. Gerome cursed. 

“That’s right!” Nah shouted after them. “Don’t you be messing with the indestructible team of Nah and Gerome! We’ll end you!”

She began to descend, back towards their cave. 

“Wasn’t that fun,” she beamed at her silent rider. “And aren’t you so glad you get to ride on an awesome fire-breathing dragon instead of one of those oversized bats?”

Gerome said nothing, his expression closed. 

“What’s wrong?”

“They got away. Don’t you realise what that means? They’ll be back. With reinforcements next time.”

“We have to leave then,” Nah realised. 

“I don’t want to leave! I didn’t want any of this to happen! Dammit Nah, why couldn’t you have just left him where you found him!”

“Don’t you be blaming this on my sweet Inigo!” she snapped. 

“He’s going,” Gerome decided. “I don’t care how badly he’s hurt. If he’s gone then they won’t come looking for us.”

“Gerome you can’t mean that!”

“I can! And I do. As soon as we get back!”

But when Gerome and Nah entered the cave, Inigo was fast asleep. The fire had almost burnt out, so he had wrapped himself in whatever blankets he could find, and was now lying curled up in the heap. 

“Damn, I forgot the rabbits,” Nah realised. 

Gerome thought she was joking, but when he looked back she was already on her way out the cave. 

“Do what you have to, Gerome,” she called back as she went. “I guess he’ll be long gone when I return.”

She didn’t sound like she believed that for a second. Gerome huffed and set down his sword. He went to do the same for his axe, before remembering it was still down by the ambush site. Dammit. He unlaced his armour and threw some more wood on the fire, making it flare up again. 

He could see Inigo’s face in the orange light, or some of it at least. Everything apart from the bridge of his nose and his closed eyes was submerged in the blankets. Gerome rubbed his hands together. First he’d wake him up. Then maybe, depending on how sleepy or grumpy he was at being woken, he’d tell him about the scary girl and the wyverns. He’d give him some supplies, he wasn’t that heartless after all, and point him in the direction of the nearest village. It’d be a long trek on foot, but he’d make it. 

Gerome knelt by Inigo’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder. He hesitated before he could shake him awake. Inigo looked so peaceful. Gerome still hadn’t forgotten the mark in his eye, the one that matched the beautiful insignia he’d found. He wondered if it’d be as vivid when Inigo’s eyes were foggy with sleep. Gerome hastily drew his hand away as Inigo shifted in his sleep. Come on, he could do this, he could do this, he could do this...

 

Nah returned an hour or two later, when dawn had already begun to bleach the sky in the distance. She smirked and dropped the rabbits beside the dozing Gerome, who was leaning against the wall close to a still very much present Inigo. Nah rolled her eyes. She knew Gerome wouldn’t do it. She topped up the fire with her breath and curled herself around them both, nestling them in her warmth. Gerome would probably freak out when he woke to find himself this close to Inigo, and no doubt Inigo would respond with comments that would only strengthen Gerome’s resolve to remain uninterested in him. She smiled.

What was she going to do with these two idiots?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance as this is quite a slow chapter! XD I promise things will pick up again in the next one! :)
> 
> Also apparently I've been pronouncing Inigo wrong all this time... XD  
> Thought it was like indigo without the d, but turns out it's 'in-eeeee-go'! Oops! XD

Inigo awoke to the musky scent of dirt, sweat and smoke, coming from something soft that tickled his nose and warmed his side. He groaned, slinging his arm over his eyes in the hopes of falling back to sleep, but consciousness seeped unwelcome into his mind. Plus he was starving. He’d fallen asleep before Nah and Gerome had made it back with the rabbits. Speaking of which...

Inigo moved his arm and carefully opened his eyes. Gerome lay beside him, closer than he’d expect the masked stranger would want to get. Though he saw Nah’s pink limbs wrapped around them both, bringing them together, and suspected that Gerome was oblivious to who he now slept beside, as he himself had been before waking. Well, no need to hurry away, Inigo thought lazily. 

He couldn’t stand without disturbing the others, so Inigo rolled onto his front, propping his head up against Nah’s side. It really was strange not being able to see Gerome’s eyes. Inigo was used to theatrics - his childhood friend, Owain, had been quite the dramatist - but even he hadn’t walked around in a mask. Inigo couldn’t help but wonder why Gerome bothered wearing the silly thing. If he lived in the mountains there wasn’t really anyone to hide from. Was there?

Maybe he was a thief, and the mask helped conceal his identity while he committed crimes? Or maybe Gerome had a terrible scar or facial deformity that he was trying to cover? Inigo felt his fingers twitching with curiosity. Gerome’s breathing indicated that he was deep in sleep. Surely he wouldn’t notice if Inigo took a quick peek?

Just as Inigo’s hand was slowly inching its way towards the edge of the mask, Gerome’s far hand sprung and caught Inigo’s wrist, forcing the arm down behind the intruding boy’s back. Inigo automatically went to shout in alarm, but Gerome’s other hand was already clamped over his mouth, muffling any noise. Inigo couldn’t pull away. The arm pinned behind his back was used as leverage to keep him from retreating. 

“Don’t wake Nah,” Gerome warned gruffly. 

So he was awake. Inigo nodded frantically. He’d make a mime of sealing his lips, but his non-pinned arm was the only thing keeping him from face planting the ground. Satisfied, Gerome released him.

“And don’t ever try removing my mask again,” he added, before rolling over, so his back was to Inigo. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Inigo insisted, ashamed to have been caught. “There was a bug on your face.”

“No there wasn’t.”

“How would you know? You were asleep.”

Gerome sighed, clearly wearied by such questions.

“Fool. I have depended on myself ever since I can remember. I have spent countless nights alone, with only my instincts as a guard. I have trained myself to wake at even the slightest stirring of air close to my body. None sneak up on me in the night. Not even bugs.”

“Really? Then how do you explain not noticing this?”

Inigo gestured to their close proximity, to the slumbering dragon who had clearly moved them. 

“Nah is different,” Gerome said, after a brief pause. “I have grown to tolerate her presence. My senses tune her out.”

“Sure,” Inigo smirked. “I bet you let her do it so you’d have an excuse to be close to me.”

Gerome didn’t respond, clearly resolved to ignore him. Inigo resumed lying on his back, pleased to have bested him yet again. 

“No need to answer,” he grinned. “I can hardly blame you. Who wouldn’t want to be closer to a charming and dashing prince like myself?”

“ _Prince?!_ ”

Inigo and Gerome were almost sent flying as Nah shot to her feet, wings opening, tail hitting the wall. She gaped at Inigo, blasting him with a warm wave of breath, her expression absolutely delighted. 

“You’re a prince?” she repeated in disbelief. 

“You’re awake?” Gerome grumbled.

“Oh Naga, Inigo! Just when I thought I couldn’t love you anymore you go and say something like that!”

Inigo stood, smiling shyly. He wasn’t used to people reacting with such enthusiasm to his title. Maybe he should try dropping his royal heritage into the next conversation he had with a cute girl. Gerome lay resolutely on the bare floor, determined to sleep through the racket. 

“Didn’t you realise?” Inigo chuckled weakly. “And here I thought the brand of the Exalt in my eye was a dead giveaway.”

“The Exalt? _The_ Exalt! Oh! OH!”

The cave was practically trembling with the volume of Nah’s excitement. Gerome cringed, hands covering his ears. 

“Gerome!” Nah exclaimed, dancing around his horizontal body. “Gerome! Did you hear that Gerome? The Exalt! You know who the Exalt is, right? Gerome!”

“Yes,” Gerome muttered darkly. 

Inigo gaped at them both. 

“Are you kidding? How can you know who the Exalt is but not know the brand?”

“I never actually saw it myself,” Nah said, calming herself. “But my mother used to tell me all about Chrom. She was a Shepherd too, she fought alongside him in the battle of Valm and countless others before it. That’s where she met my father. They used to tell me such stories about it all...”

Nah trailed off, staring at the dying embers of the fire. Inigo frowned. _Used to..._

“Well it sounds like you heard a great deal more about him than I did,” he sighed. 

It was true. From what little he could remember, his father had always been busy in council meetings or rushing away to chase bandits from nearby villages. When he was free to spend time with his family, he’d chosen to spar with Lucina, who’d always jump at the chance. He’d tried teaching Inigo to hold a sword too, but Inigo had always got bored quickly and wandered off to practise dancing instead. 

At dinner time, when the royal family all ate together, they nearly always had guests: other Shepherds who would crowd around Chrom and laugh and hoot at all their shared memories. Inigo had been too shy to get close enough to hear their adventures, though he doubted Chrom had noticed, what with how occupied he’d always be with encouraging Lucina to show her new sword-fighting techniques to his friends. 

“No. I won’t allow this to happen,” Gerome groaned, finally rising. 

Inigo heard his joints popping and cracking as he stretched. 

“You,” Gerome pointed an accusing finger at Inigo. “Stop trying to get us emotionally involved in your pitiful life. My father wasn’t perfect either, but I don’t let it make me weak.”

“I don’t-”

“You just spent the last twenty seconds staring at the wall. Pathetic. Do that in the midst of a battle and you’ll be dead.”

Gerome shook his head, tossing Inigo a skinned rabbit. Inigo grimaced. He wasn’t used to seeing his food with a face, even if it was a dried out pink one.

“Cook it over the fire and eat up. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Leaving?” Inigo cocked his head, puzzled. “Where to?”

“But Gerome!” Nah cried. “He’s the prince! Surely that changes things?”

“It doesn’t.”

Inigo looked between the two of them, realisation dawning on him. 

“Oh,” he said. “You’re ditching me.”

“No we’re not!” Nah insisted. “Gerome we can’t-”

“We are,” Gerome said forcefully. “I’m sorry. But people are looking for you and we don’t want them finding us.”

“But they think I’m dead!” Inigo exclaimed desperately.

He thought he’d finally found some people to help him in his struggle, and now they were abandoning him. Just like Chrom had abandoned him. 

“Really,” Gerome said coldly. “That didn’t seem to matter to that white-haired girl from last night.”

“Oh Naga!” Inigo cursed, his heart pounding with dread. “Noire? Noire was here?”

So they’d already come and found his corpse missing. Events were unfurling far faster than he’d hoped. He still didn’t know what he was going to do. Run? Find Chrom? Go back to Ylisstol? Aware of Gerome and Nah still watching him, he did what he always tried to do: swallow his panic and hide the remains with humour.

“Typical,” he said, offering them a weak smile. “The one time my flirting works at enticing a girl and she’s a crazy stalker who I don’t want following me.”

“Isn’t life tough,” Gerome sneered. 

He snatched the raw rabbit from Inigo’s hand, placing it on the fire to cook. 

“Must you try delay us? It would be best for both parties if you leave as soon as you can.”

“But we won’t just abandon you up here,” Nah said, looking to Gerome as if for permission. “We’ll take you to the closest village. You can get some supplies there and then go... wherever you plan to go?”

She was clearly asking Inigo a question, but the prince didn’t know the answer himself yet. He hadn’t really thought through what he’d do if he did manage to escape from Grima. In the midst of the ambush the adrenalin had just taken over and he’d fled. He hadn’t actually expected to escape.  

“Here,” Gerome passed him the rabbit once it’d cooked, the raw pink skin now brown and crisp. “Eat it. You’ll need your strength.”

Inigo flinched as the meat began to drip with clear, boiling juices, nearly staining his brown pants. He looked around for something to wrap it in: a napkin, or maybe a plate if he was lucky. His eyes fell on the scrap of cloth that had his family brand on it. 

“Eat,” Gerome prompted him impatiently. “You don’t know when you’ll find another meal.”

But actually, Inigo did. He’d find one when he found the Shepherds, when he was reunited with his father. If this cloth had come from one of the ambushers, that meant his father must have sent them. His father had been trying to save him. His father might still be looking for him. 

“I know where I’ll go,” Inigo said. “I’m going to find my father.”

He took a bite of meat, certain that this was a great plan. Once his father saw him, saw that he’d escaped Grima and made it to them in one piece, then he’d be proud. Then it would be him, and not Lucina, who was the treasured child of Ylisse. 

“Your father?” Nah looked to Gerome, concerned, but he was already busy gathering all the items in the cave together. “But Inigo, Chrom’s dead. No one’s seen him for years. Ever since he left the castle that final time.”

“S’not true,” Inigo said, his mouth full of rabbit. 

He held up the cloth with the insignia on. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Gerome said, rolling the blankets. “What remains of the Shepherds is still fighting under the Exalt’s brand. That’s hardly surprising.”

“I know he’s alive,” Inigo insisted. “Noire accidentally told me so. And she’s Grima’s daughter. She ought to know.”

“Just listen to me,” Gerome sighed, finally standing still. “This village we’ll take you to, it’s near the sea. They send boxes of goods over to Valm all the time. Just convince someone to let you stow away in a crate. Get out of Ylisse. Start a new life. Grima won’t be able to find you then.”

“A tempting offer,” Inigo grinned. “Maybe it would be more tempting if I had someone to start a new life with. Someone tall, dark and handsome, perhaps?”

“We stay in Ylisse.”

“Oh? And what makes you so sure I was talking about you?”

“Please be serious for a moment, Inigo.”

Inigo felt a slight thrill go through him. That was the first time Gerome had called him by his name. Such a shame he’d said it in a way that reminded him of how Chrom used to scold him.

“If Chrom really is alive, then the greatest service you can do for him is to leave. Not stay, get recaptured, and become Grima’s pawn against him. Whatever sense of duty you feel towards him, I think he’d rather you were somewhere safe. Hidden.”

Gerome’s face was completely serious as he spoke, not a trace of eyebrows narrowed in irritation or a condescending edge to his voice. Inigo could almost believe the other man actually wanted him safe. 

“Why do you care so much?” he said, accusingly. 

Gerome paused for only a second, his face taking on that familiar scowl. Nah shut her eyes, dreading the inevitable outburst.

“I don’t care,” Gerome said, a bit too forcefully, Inigo thought. “I just fail to see what use you will be to Chrom even if you do find him.”

Inigo raised an eyebrow, inviting Gerome to continue. He gobbled up the rest of the rabbit while he listened.

“You don’t fight, you don’t have any useful skills that could assist the Shepherds in combat.”

Inigo couldn’t help but grin at this. Oh, if only Gerome knew about his dancing. Then he was sure the other man wouldn’t be so harsh. Although Inigo wasn’t offended by Gerome’s words. If anything they amused him. At the moment Gerome reminded him of a bull, having to snort and kick the ground to persuade people that he was going to charge. 

“You’d just be a burden to them.”

“Actually,” Inigo said. “I have many useful skills that go beyond my spectacular flirting and charm.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Gerome muttered. 

“Well you’ve only know me for just over a day. I don’t think that’s enough time for you to have me figured out.”

“Really? I disagree. I think I have you completely sussed.”

Inigo felt a pang in his chest. Gerome’s voice was far lower and harsher now than it’d been at the beginning of their silly argument. He was out for blood. Inigo really didn’t want to hear what he was about to say. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed this change of tone. 

“Don’t Gerome,” Nah begged, but as usual she was ignored.  

“You’re a spoilt, selfish child who thinks he can make everything better with a stupid smile, and you want your parents to be proud of you even though you’ve done nothing to warrant such pride and lack the ability to ever do so. All you’re good for is that brand in your eye, and even then you bring shame to it with your repetitive, embarrassing failures at flirting. If you weren’t a prince, and had to live in the real world, then I have zero doubt that you’d have been killed pointlessly long ago.”

An awkward silence hung in the air when Gerome finally stopped talking. Inigo wanted to look away from him, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else to stare. He tried to smile, to shrug Gerome’s words off as the masked man’s desperate attempt at winning an argument, but his lips felt numb. He couldn’t really laugh away a speech like that. 

Gerome cleared his throat, his face flushing under his mask. Maybe he already regretted what he’d said, but it mattered little to Inigo. Out loud or not, this was clearly his ill-formed opinion of him. 

“Do you really think that’s what I am?” Inigo said, his voice quiet.

But Gerome had already gone back to gathering everything up. Completely ignoring him. 

“Maybe we should wait outside?” Nah suggested, softly. 

She nudged Inigo gently with her snout, prodding him towards the exit. Once they were in the cool air, the blue sky clear above them, Inigo felt his head clear. Anger crept in. 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean any of that,” Nah said nervously. “He’s just... he’s not good at saying nice things.”

“Yeah well he’s fantastic at saying horrid things,” Inigo fumed. “Is that how he passes the time? Just yells insults at the mountain. He’s not exactly Mr. Perfect himself, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Nah soothed, wrapping her wings around Inigo’s shoulders to keep him warm. “Trust me, I am well aware of Gerome’s flaws. They infuriate me at times. Especially now.”

“Whatever. Forget him. It’s not like I wanted us to part as unlikely friends or anything. Clearly there’s a reason he’s alone.”

Inigo slumped himself down on the ground, arms crossed. Nah cuddled around him, clearly desperate to savour what little time they had left.

“So,” she said. “Will you take the ship to Valm?”

“Sure,” Inigo said bitterly. “Whatever his majesty wants.”

 

 

Gerome had never wanted to sink into the ground so much. He hadn’t meant to say such harsh things. Well, he had, but not that harsh. He’d just been so frustrated. Inigo didn’t understand the dangers he would face by staying in Ylisse. He didn’t seem to get that he couldn’t just wander the countryside, picking up girls and hoping none of Grima’s minions found him. And as for finding the Shepherds, well, if even the Fell Dragon hadn’t been able to do so, what hope was there for the naive prince?

He wanted Inigo to be safe. It was a miracle that he had been Grima’s captive, and yet still possessed a spark of humour, a spark of hope. He genuinely believed he could help, he _wanted_ to help, even though there was nothing useful he could do. This in turn had made Gerome feel guilty, that a skilled and deadly warrior such as himself would rather hide from the war and pretend it wasn’t happening, while deluded, unarmed Inigo sought out the fighting with open arms. He wasn’t used to feeling so many conflicting emotions: fear, guilt, admiration, frustration... it had all burst out of him in one verbal attack, and unfortunately Inigo had been the target. 

Gerome knew he should apologise. Heck, he reckoned Nah would refuse to give him a ride until he had. But this was the only way. Make Inigo feel weak. Make him feel worthless. Make him believe himself to be a burden. Anything to get him on that ship to Valm. It would work, Gerome was sure of it. And if Inigo was such a fool that he still refused to go, well, that wasn’t his problem. He’d done everything he could. 

Once everything was packed tightly together, anything unessential burned so the load would not be too heavy for Nah, Gerome drew and released some breaths to help maintain his blank expression. He couldn’t show any signs of regret or apology before Inigo. Slinging the tied bag over his shoulder, Gerome left the cave. 

Nah and Inigo were waiting patiently, in more of less the same position they’d assumed in the cave. Nah noticed him before Inigo did, having learnt over the years to detect his silent footsteps. She tilted her head, ears falling. A final plea for him to reconsider. Gerome shook his head. His mind was set. 

“Come on,” he said, and only then did Inigo notice him. 

He didn’t turn his head to look at Gerome, but the masked man noticed his shoulders tense upon hearing his voice.

“Have you ever flown before?” Gerome asked him, handing the bag to Nah.

Inigo said nothing, only glanced at Gerome fleetingly, his nose crinkling as if Gerome were a bad smell. The masked man sighed in despair. 

“Well it’s much harder than it looks,” he said, hoping to bait the prince into making one of his inappropriate jokes. 

He saw Inigo’s mouth twitch, clearly tempted, but it quickly passed. Nah was standing now, stretching her legs and wings before the flight. It had been quite a while since she’d had multiple people to carry. Gerome hoped she’d be strong enough. He hoisted himself into his normal position, right behind the base of Nah’s neck. He offered a hand down to Inigo. 

“Sit behind me,” he said. “And hold on tight.”

The prince swatted his hand away and climbed on himself, though far less effortlessly than Gerome had. Gerome looked away, waiting until he could feel Inigo’s warmth behind him. 

“Hold onto me,” he reminded him.

“I don’t want to,” Inigo said. 

“Well then you’ll fall off.”

“And the world will be glad to be rid of me.”

Gerome sighed heavily. Naga give him patience...

“Nah would be very upset if you fell,” he said, trying to bite back any venom in his tone. 

Nah nodded enthusiastically. She had the bag’s straps clenched tightly in her jaws, ready for take off.

“Fine then,” Inigo grumbled. 

Gerome jumped in surprise as the prince’s arms snaked around his waist, locking together almost painfully. His body was now fully pressed against Gerome’s back, his head resting between his shoulder blades. 

“By the way,” Inigo said quietly, his voice making the skin on Gerome’s neck quiver. “Don’t think any of my flirting from yesterday was serious. I don’t like you. At all.”

“Good,” Gerome said, gulping. 

Thankfully, Nah’s wings spread open at that point, and she lithely dropped off the side of the mountain. Gerome loved the sensation of falling. The wind streaming through his hair, the lightness in his limbs, the cold numbing his skin. Inigo’s arms were immediately clenching around his waist, fingers digging into the muscle on his stomach. He could hear a muffled, terrified cry, and imagined the prince had his mouth buried against his cloaks.

To Gerome’s disappointment, Nah didn’t let herself fall for nearly as long as she normally did. Her wings began to beat, furiously at first, but once they were no longer falling and soared straight across the sky, they slowed into gentle strokes. She turned her head slightly, green eyes asking Gerome to check if Inigo was okay.   

“How are you feeling?” Gerome reluctantly said. 

Though judging by the fact that his arms were still as stiff as dead limbs and his fingers hadn’t eased up the pressure with which they clung, he already knew Inigo was not at ease just yet. Sure enough, he didn’t respond. 

“He’s fine,” Gerome assured Nah, who clearly wasn’t assured by this. 

The grey mountain peaks were far behind them by now, the stone below giving way to grass and streams. Gerome kept a watchful eye for any signs of people or Risen, but fortunately there were none. After all, this was the middle of nowhere. Any nearby villages had been burned down long ago.

It took a few hours of steady silence before Inigo finally loosened his hold. Gerome was sure he’d have bruises on his skin come morning. He felt Inigo’s head lift from his back, and then his body was shifting against his side to side as he looked around at the view. Gerome could hear him gasping softly every few minutes as he was dazzled by sight after sight: the silver river running into the distance, the varying green clumps of the forest below, a herd of wild elk fleeing in groups from Nah’s shadow. 

“I forgot the world could look like this,” he finally breathed. “I wasn’t aware that Grima’s reach had yet to extend throughout all of Ylisse. But when it does, I know all of this will be gone. Dead.”

“Perhaps,” Gerome grumbled. 

He preferred flying in silence. 

“It does baffle me,” Inigo chuckled. “You don’t seem to care much about anything. So why are you here? Why stay in Ylisse? Why not flee to Valm, or even further, where you don’t need to hide?”

“I have my reasons,” Gerome said, and he did. 

He just had no intention of sharing them with Inigo. Besides, he doubted the prince would understand. Luckily, Inigo abandoned the idea of starting up conversation after that. And after a few more hours, Gerome could see the village by the sea in the distance. 

Nah landed a safe distance away, so they wouldn’t startle the locals. Gerome doubted they’d seen a dragon before, and the last thing he wanted was to make them panic. He dismounted, urging Inigo to do the same, and they walked to the village border together. 

“There it is,” Gerome said.

The village was a decent size, with cobbled streets and wooden buildings that were only slightly shorter than the surrounding trees. He could smell bread baking somewhere, and the acrid smell of smoke from the ships in the water. 

“Head that way,” he told Inigo, pointing to a building he could see near the dock. “Ask around near there. Tell them who you are. I’m sure someone will help you out.”

“And make sure you take it easy,” Nah insisted tearfully. “Until your wound is fully healed. Okay?”

“Make sure you go straight to the docks. Not the tavern, the docks. And they will help you. Don’t worry. The people here are still free from Grima’s control. They’ll do anything to preserve Chrom’s legacy. You’ll have no problem getting what you need.”

Gerome knew he was waffling and repeating himself, but he wanted to ensure there was absolutely no way Inigo could screw this up. The prince was looking carelessly at the village, eyes distant. Gerome wasn’t sure if he was listening or not. 

“Sure,” he finally said. “To the docks. Got it.”

“Good.”

Gerome nodded. There wasn’t anything else left to say. Nah pushed past him, wrapping her neck around Inigo’s shoulder as he hugged her. 

“Thank you for saving me, Nah,” he said. “I’ll forever be grateful. I hope we can meet again, one day.”

“Take care of yourself,” Nah sniffed. “You’ll be fine. I know you will.”

Eventually, she drew away, looking reluctant and teary-eyed as she did so. Gerome rolled his own eyes at the sentimental display. 

“Well,” Inigo said to him, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I guess this is goodbye then.”

“It is.”

“Thanks.”

Gerome nodded, sure that said everything it needed to. Inigo stared at him is dismay, as if he’d been expecting something more, but eventually he turned and made his way into the village. Gerome watched until he was halfway towards the docks before deciding it was time to leave. 

“Come on,” he said, giving Nah’s tail a tug. 

Nah looked positively heartbroken, watching Inigo’s retreating figure with the same expression a mother use when searching for her lost child. 

“Please Gerome,” she begged. “We can’t leave him here. Not all by himself.”

“There’s nothing else we can do,” Gerome insisted. “He’ll be safe in Valm. A whole lot safer than he’d be if he found the Shepherds. Now come on. I want to find some new mountains before nightfall.”

Gerome and Nah returned to the same spot they’d landed in, a field separated from the village by dense trees. Gerome slung the bag over his shoulder, able to carry it himself now that he didn’t have a terrified prince clinging to his back. He climbed onto Nah’s back. She was still looking off towards the village, as if she expected to see Inigo come running towards them at any moment. 

“Nah,” Gerome sighed. 

Expression falling, she launched herself back into the sky. The village began to shrink behind them. 

“I think I saw some mountains on a map that were west of here,” Gerome said. “Let’s head there, shall we?”

Nah didn’t respond, still sulking. Gerome prayed this wouldn’t go on for the rest of the day. It was for this exact reason that he hadn’t wanted Nah to become too attached to Inigo. 

“Can’t we go back?” she cried. “At least for you to say sorry? You didn’t see his little face, Gerome. You really hurt him.”

“I don’t care,” Gerome grumbled.

“Yes you do! Why else would you be so insistent that he gets on that ship?”

Gerome looked behind him. He couldn’t even see the village anymore. It was lost amongst the trees. 

“You know what,” Nah said. “He was so hurt. He was so angry at you that I don’t think he’s going to get on that stupid ship. Just to piss you off.”

Gerome wasn’t surprised that she thought this. He’d suspected it himself. But alas...  

“Then that’s his own stupid fault.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow has it really been over a week since I last updated! O_o So sorry I definitely didn't mean to leave it that long! I actually took some time to plan out the next few chapters, so hopefully they'll get written a lot quicker now!
> 
> And a massive thanks to everyone who has left such kind comments! ^-^ I'm so glad that people are enjoying the story! :D

It had not been an easy thing to return to Grima with more bad news. Noire was pretty sure she was on her last life by now. But, as she’d explained to him, it hadn’t been her fault. She had been perfect. It was the Risen he’d sent her with. They were the ones who’d failed to stop the masked man and the dragon from escaping. They were the ones who’d allowed themselves to be felled as if they were mere leaves on a tree. 

In her recollection of that conversation, Noire liked to think she’d said this all calmly, reasonably. But she knew she’d had her hand on her talisman. She knew she’d roared in the Fell Dragon’s face, maybe with a few more profanities then had been necessary. Perhaps that was what had saved her. Grima had laughed, _laughed_ , at her words, chuckled fondly in a way that tugged at her heart strings and reminded her of her real father, before everything had gone wrong. And he’d agreed with her. To hold Noire accountable for the Risen’s failure would be the same as holding himself accountable for hers, and the Fell Dragon was by no means a failure at anything. 

So Noire had been given a new set of demonic wyverns, ten this time, and even an extra mount for herself. Grima had assured her they were stronger this time, bigger and fiercer. She’d better keep them under control. She’d sworn she would. 

And now she was back in the mountains, down by the road. Her Risen were scouting every peak and crevice, searching for where the masked man might be hiding. Noire waited for the telltale bellow, which would indicate the Risen had succeeded in their search. In the meantime, she amused herself with thoughts of what she would do to this man when she found him. An arrow through the eye, maybe? No, that would be too swift a death for the man who had _dared_ to touch the corpse of her prince. 

Maybe she would take him to Grima. The Fell Dragon would be far more adept at inflicting suffering. And perhaps he would make a decent Risen for his steadily growing army. Her father would most definitely be interested in the pink dragon at least. He seemed under the impression that he’d eradicated all the manaketes years ago.  

Noire’s head snapped up as a dreadful groan echoed from somewhere deep within the mountains. Beside her, her demonic wyvern shifted eagerly. They’d found something. She climbed onto her mount and flew to the source of the groan, where she hoped her prey would be waiting. 

The Risen had found a small cave, with a thin stream flowing over it. Five of them lingered outside, awaiting orders, while the other five were silhouettes in the afternoon sky, circling like vultures. Noire walked into the cave with her head held high, not meeting any of their gazes. To her surprise, there was light coming from within.

In the heart of the cave, around the bend of the tunnel she had to walk down, a fire was on the verge of dying. Noire frowned, casting her gaze around. It was a cosy place, she had to admit, but clearly the masked man was more sensible than she’d hoped. There was little doubt in her mind that they’d been here, and yet nothing remained except the fire and the few scraps tossed upon it, which she suspected the masked man had hoped would be burned away by now. 

She bent to retrieve what she could. Rabbit skin. Bones. Scraps of bloody material. Noire put the material to her nose and inhaled deeply. It smelt musky but flowery, and scent she was well acquainted with. _Inigo_. So he had been here. Clutching the material close, Noire went back outside to her waiting troops. 

Once she was able to hold the material up in the sunlight, she could see that it was the shirt Inigo had been wearing when he’d thrown himself into the gorge. Though the front was stained with crusty blood, and someone had cut it cleanly open. Noire gritted her teeth. How despicable the masked man must be, to have found her beloved’s corpse and stolen what little he had. Though it surprised her that he’d gone to the trouble of taking it despite the gore that was bound to have splattered over it from the fall. _Wait..._

Noire frowned, holding the shirt up again. No gore. No stains. Only the blood, that had already been blooming on Inigo’s stomach before he’d thrown himself away. This shirt had not come from a body that had sustained a great fall. It belonged to someone still whole, someone who was possibly still very much alive...

“Oh Naga,” Noire breathed.

Inigo was alive. He was alive! She wanted to scream with joy, to shout praise at whatever divine intervention had spared him from death. But the smile quickly died on her face. She remembered where she was, what she had been sent to do. In death he’d been freed from Grima, freed from whatever dark purpose the Fell Dragon wanted him for. But now... now he would need to be brought before her master and forced to bend to his will. 

Noire didn’t want that. She imagined Inigo somewhere peaceful right now, perhaps in the company of the masked man, who had become his sworn protector. Thinking he was safe, thinking he was finally free. Until she found him and brought him back. No wonder he hated her. But Noire knew she couldn’t keep Inigo’s survival a secret from Grima. The Fell Dragon would find out. He always found out. And if he also found out that she’d known and kept it to herself, it would be the mistake that sealed her fate. She would be branded a traitor. She would be made to suffer. She would no longer be able to protect the man she loved from the Fell Dragon’s dark intent. 

“You,” Noire barked at the largest of the Risen. 

He dismounted, standing before her dutifully. Noire handed him the shirt, resisting the urge to keep a scrap of it to comfort her. 

“This carries the Prince’s scent,” she told the Risen. “Use it. Find him. I will report back to Master Grima to let him know our target is alive.”

The Risen nodded, face blank and eyes empty, and held the shirt before the snout of his wyvern. The beast inhaled, unleashing a monstrous roar when it had the scent memorised. The shirt was passed to another Risen, who repeated the process. 

Noire watched this unfurl with mute horror. She hoped Inigo had been smart. She hoped he had used the time given to him to run, to hide far away where the Fell Dragon would be unable to find him. She climbed back onto her own wyvern, her heart already in knots for what she had done.

“Remember,” she said to the Risen chief. “Master Grima needs the Prince alive and unharmed.”

“ _Yes_ ,” the Risen wheezed, already back on his mount. 

With a rallying cry, which reminded Noire of rotten floorboard creaking, the Risen lifted into the sky. Noire pitied those who would see them fly by. Despite her Master’s stronghold being hidden amongst the land out here, she knew he had not yet laid waste to the villages nearby. What would those defenceless people think, seeing the demonic hoard of wyverns soaring past like a deadly swarm? Any peace they’d thought they had would instantly be shattered. 

Trembling, Noire gripped her talisman tight, letting the weakness and pity she felt get washed away by waves of rage and hate. Damn Inigo for choosing the gorge over her! Let the treacherous toad watch helplessly as his precious masked ally was torn apart before his very eyes! And let anyone who dared defy her master be struck down by his glorious forces! Noire slapped her wyvern’s neck, hard. The beast shrieked and leapt into the air, taking her back to the stronghold. 

Noire hoped that the wyverns would fail at apprehending the Prince. After all, he was her prey. She should be the one to hunt him. 

*

From the moment he left the cave, Inigo had had no intention of boarding the ship to Valm. And not just because Gerome thought he should. What did he know anyway? He didn’t realise Inigo could dance, and he was obviously a terrible judge of character so of course his advice would be terrible as well, right? Although Inigo couldn’t help but feel saddened by their departure from one another. 

Despite Gerome’s glares and silence, he’d thought the other man liked him at least a little bit. But the way he’d said goodbye, it was was so simple. It was the goodbye you gave to a stranger you passed on the street, not someone you’d saved and cared for. Clearly Inigo had failed to make any connections with the masked man. Whereas he would have dared to say their encounter had made them friends, Gerome clearly thought nothing of the time they’d spent together. 

Inigo sighed as he walked. There was no point in his thoughts lingering on Gerome. He was gone for good, on his way to Naga knows where to hide from the war. Though Inigo had no idea why he refused to fight in it. He looked strong enough, and besides, didn’t he have dead parents he wanted to avenge? It certainly seemed that Nah did. 

After a few minutes of wandering, Inigo came to the dusty road that would hopefully lead him to the next village. He had no idea where to even start looking for the Shepherds, but surely they had to go somewhere for their supplies. If he hopped from village to village, asking the right people right questions, maybe he’d be able to glean their hiding place. Or better yet, maybe one of the Shepherds would see him and take him to Chrom. Though walking into the Shepherds camp all on his own would definitely make for a more impressive and dramatic entrance...

Inigo craned his neck around as he heard hoofbeats beating against the earth. A distant dust cloud signified the approach of horses and riders. They were still a fair distance away. Inigo looked to the trees and bushes alongside the path, wondering if he should duck and hide until they went past. However, from a distance it didn’t seem like the men were wearing Plegian uniforms. If they were travelers like himself then it’d certainly be useful to ask if they heading to the same place as he was. Traveling in groups was much safer, and besides, it wasn’t like he had anyone else to keep him company during his search. Loneliness could drive a man mad.

So instead of concealing himself, Inigo stopped walking and stepped to the side of the road. If the riders stopped then great. If they kept riding, well, at least he wouldn’t be in the way. To Inigo’s delight, the approaching men began to slow when they caught sight of him. He smiled in what he hoped would be a friendly way. 

“Hi there,” he said cheerfully, as soon as the dust had settled around the closest rider. 

He was a thick man with a scar stretching across his cheek and catching the corner of one eye, dragging it downwards. Inigo didn’t want to stare at it, but it was impossible to keep eye contact with the man without being at least a little distracted by it. He looked to his other companions as well, two more men, who were slightly scrawnier but by no means any less strong looking. One had a length of brown hair knotted down his back, thick as rope, while the other was bald and was missing a finger on his left hand.

They were the type of group you certainly wouldn’t want to encounter in the midst of a dark forest. _Then why_ , thought Inigo, _have I willingly encountered them in the middle of nowhere?_ He could feel a bead of sweat falling between his shoulder blades, but he kept his smile intact, hoping the sheer audacity of it would prevent the men from being hostile towards him. 

The scar-man still hadn’t spoken. He was waiting for him to continue, Inigo realised. Well damn, he didn’t know what to say. The men had looked a lot less intimidating from a distance. 

“Nice day, isn’t it?” Inigo tried weakly. “Er, you headed anywhere in particular?”

“Somewhere populated,” the man said, and oh boy his voice was as rough as his unbathed exterior. “To gather some stuff to sell at the Moon Market.”

“Oh?” Inigo hadn’t heard of the Moon Market, though he suspected it was something shady. “What kind of stuff you going to sell?”

“Whatever we find,” the bald man said, and drat, why was he off his horse? 

“You’d be surprised what quality goods simple villages in this part got,” rope-hair chuckled. 

Inigo nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching nervously. These men weren’t necessarily thieves. They could have been traders. 

“What about you, boy?” the scar-man said. “Where are you headed all by yourself?”

The bald man was scrutinising him closely from the side, and Inigo wasn’t sure which of them he should keep his eyes on. 

“Erm, I’m, er, trying to find the Shepherds.”

The three men burst into laughter, roaring like drunkards. Their horses shifted uneasily, startled by the sudden noise. Inigo saw the pack on the back of the bald man’s horse slip sideways slightly. A blade gleamed from within. 

“The Shepherds are gone, boy,” the scar-man exclaimed. “Do you think the likes of us would be making a living if they weren’t?”

Inigo grinned sheepishly, unsure if that was the man’s confession of being a thief or not. Rope-hair felt around in his pack and pulled out a glass jar. It was filled with a green balm and oh sweet Naga there was a hand in it. A human hand. With the slim fingers and unblemished skin of a young maiden. Inigo’s smile died, his face paling. They weren’t just thieves. They were something much, much worse. 

“Pretty sweet, eh?” rope-hair said, bouncing his eyebrows. “The hand of a virgin. Fetches a hefty price at the Moon Market.”

Inigo jumped as the bald man grabbed his arm, lifting it. He snatched it away, eyes wide. If only he had Lucina’s fiery instincts. His sister would have kicked this man in the groin for something like that. 

“He hasn’t got a pack,” the bald man frowned. “No weapon. No supplies. Nothing.”

“Really?” the scar-man sounded amused. “Just how far were you expecting to get, boy?”

Maybe Inigo had been a little hasty in leaving the village. But what was he meant to get supplies with? Gerome had given him nothing, and he certainly hadn’t had anything valuable on him when he taken to the carriage. Was he meant to charm his way to free stuff or something?

“What about himself?” rope-hair gestured at Inigo. “He’s not hideous or anything. Should sell nicely at the market, right?” 

The scar-man tilted his head, obviously considering. Inigo averted his eyes, attempting to hide the brand. That would be the deal-maker. If they thought they could get money for selling a random stranger, then Naga knows what they’d think a prince was worth. 

“Agreed,” the bald man said, stepping even closer to Inigo. “Don't normally care to deal in live merchandise, but it’s not every day we come across a bluenette like this.”

“It’s not natural,” Inigo insisted. “I dye it.”

“Can you fight?” the scar-man asked. 

Inigo was about to say he couldn’t, but then thought better of it. He’d seen his sister win sword fights before they even started just by acting confident, like she knew she’d win. He straightened up, squared his shoulders. 

“I can, actually,” he said. “Very well. So I suggest you leave before I hurt you.”

Rope-hair just about managed to suppress a snigger. The scar-man raised his eyebrows. 

“You don’t have a weapon,” he said simply. 

“I don’t need one,” Inigo said. “I’ve killed countless men with my bare hands.”

“How?”

Judging by his tone, the scar-man wasn’t believing a word of it. But Inigo kept going out of sheer desperation. 

“I lure them into a false sense of security and punch them right in the face. But in a special way. So it breaks their necks.”

To Inigo’s horror, the scar-man climbed down from his horse. The prince couldn’t help but back away as he neared, steps full of purpose. His back bumped into a tree. 

“Go on then,” the scar-man sneered. “Punch me. And make it a good one, boy, cause after I’m going to tie you to my horse and take you to sell. But first, maybe I’ll have some fun with you. Teach you a few things you’ll definitely be needing to know for whoever buys you.”

Inigo’s mouth had gone dry. He clenched his fists several times, trying to find a position that felt firm and comfortable. His freedom depended on it being a decent one... Gritting his teeth from the effort, Inigo drew back his fist and punched the bandit in the face. Then immediately doubled over as pain burst inside his hand. The bandit’s head hadn’t even been turned. He was smiling slyly at Inigo, as if he hadn’t expected anything more.

Inigo glared up at them, feeling wind on his face. The bandit’s eyes lifted away from him, to something behind him. The horses were spooked, looking as if they would soon bolt. Inigo watched as horror bloomed on the bandits' faces. The bald man backed away, to his horse, while the scar-man's hand tightened on the axe on his back. He didn't unsheathe it though, just narrowed his eyes.

“Let’s go,” the scar-man said darkly, glaring at the trees. 

The prince watched with wide eyes, confused, as the bandits hurriedly climbed back onto their horses. 

“You better watch your back, boy,” the scar-man hissed, before they kicked their mounts in the side and left. 

Inigo waited until they were a dusty smudge in the distance before letting his shaky legs collapse beneath him. He cradled his hand to his chest, heart beating like he’d just been running. Damn it. That had been too close. Maybe his punch had actually been as painful to the bandit as it had been to him, and he’d scared them off. Why else would they have gone as suddenly as they had...

“This isn’t the dock,” a deep voice said from beside Inigo. 

The prince’s resounding gasp was from both shock and delight. 

“Gerome?”

Sure enough, the masked man leaned casually against the next tree, watching Inigo passively. His mouth was set in his trademark scowl, and oh how Inigo had missed it! 

“Gerome!” He pulled himself upright using the tree for support, his knees still feeling unsteady. 

“And me!” Nah’s beaming pink head poked around from the same tree. “I think I deserve most of the credit for what just happened.”

Inigo stumbled over to them, arms outstretched for a group hug. Gerome looked horrified, while Nah moved forwards to meet Inigo half way. He wrapped his arms gratefully around her neck. 

“Get over here,” Nah called to Gerome, but he merely crossed his arms.

“I’m so glad to see you guys,” Inigo exclaimed. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were headed to the mountains?”

“And I thought you were getting on a ship to Valm,” Gerome said.

“And yet here we all are,” Nah said happily. “Alive and together!”

“Thanks to you!” Inigo beamed, releasing the dragon and hugging Gerome instead. 

The mask man stiffened in his arms, as he’d predicted he would. He probably would have pulled away if Nah hadn’t joined in, wrapping her neck around the both of them. Inigo pressed his cheek against the taller man’s chest. 

“Were you incapable of finding the dock or did you get lost?” Gerome demanded, and Inigo could tell he was genuinely angry. 

“Neither,” Inigo said, taking pity and releasing him. “I told you I’m going to find the Shepherds.”

“And _I_ told _you_ that that’s a terrible idea. Hasn’t the last few minutes proved that?”

“What, those guys?” Inigo tried to smile carelessly, but he couldn’t deny that he was still slightly shaken. “They were just giving me directions. That’s all.”

“Really. And did their suggested route include a quick detour through the slaver’s market?”

“You heard that?” Inigo cocked his head. “Just how long have you two been here for?”

“Long enough to know that you are completely hopeless!” Gerome exclaimed. “Have you never set foot on a road before? Any fool knows not to be caught alone, especially by a group of bandits on horseback! I warned you not to venture on this foolish search. Do you have any idea what they would have done to you if we hadn’t intervened?”

Inigo could see Gerome’s cheeks reddening under his mask, flushed with frustration. He felt a fond warmth spread through his chest.

“Oh Gerome,” he sighed happily. “I knew you cared.”

“Care?” Gerome blanched. “Any idiot with an axe and a dragon would step in to thwart bandits. You’re just lucky Nah and I stopped nearby to rest.”

“You’re right,” Inigo said. “I’m super lucky.”

Any idiot indeed. He knew Nah was perfectly able to fly miles before needing to rest. There was no reason for them to still be this close to the village. No reason, except him. 

“Well, I’ll be off now,” Inigo said cheerfully. “Nice to see you. Give my best to those mountains.”

“You’re going in the wrong direction,” Gerome told him. “The dock is back that way.”

“I know. I’m not going to the dock.”

Inigo kept walking, not looking back, although he was sure if he did he would have gotten a kick out of Gerome’s expression. Did the other man look angry or panicked right now?

“You don’t have any supplies,” Gerome reminded him. 

“Drat, you’re right. Well, what do you expect? I am a fool, after all.”

He could hear Nah chuckling, which made him smile. Gerome could protest all he wanted, but now Inigo knew the truth. He knew the other man cared about his survival, for whatever reason. Of course he did. He wouldn’t be here right now if he didn’t. 

Inigo kept following the road, even when Nah’s silhouette passed by overhead as they seemingly left him again. But he simply chuckled to himself, now sure of one thing. Wherever he went, they would follow. 


	8. Chapter 8

Lucina hadn’t expected to regain consciousness after such a reckless jump from the tower. She’d landed in the bushes, yes, but the bushes were dry and sharp. They’d softened her fall only to the point that it wasn’t fatal, while the thorns and twigs tore her exposed skin. She’d lain unconscious among them, bleeding out into the night while the guards rushed about, desperately hoping they could find her before Grima was informed of their incompetence. 

She was extremely lucky to have survived, and even more so to have been found by the last free ally she had within the castle. She’d been scooped from the bushes, taken to a secret cellar beneath the castle, and her wounds wrapped in bandages to prevent infection. And now that she’d finally awoken, she found herself staring into the cheerful face of her saviour.

“Henry?”

Henry and Tharja had always been close. It was a natural friendship, with both of them being Plegian and wielders of dark magic. It hadn’t been a surprise to anyone that he’d stayed by Tharja’s side through her treachery. He’d turned his back on all his former friends and smiled about it. Or at least, that’s what Lucina had thought. 

“You’re going to have one enviable bump on your forehead, princess,” Henry laughed, handing her a cup of hot brew. “But don’t worry, you shouldn’t lose anymore blood.”

Lucina wrinkled her nose as she stared into the cup. It smelt like fungus and rat taint. She couldn’t tell if Henry’s resounding grin was of encouragement or amusement. 

“Are you trying to save me or poison me?” she asked.

“Save you, of course. If I wanted to kill you there are far more interesting ways of doing it. I’ve got a big bad book of dark spells I’ve been just itching to try.”

“But I don’t understand! You’re a traitor! You’re with Grima!”

Henry’s smile left his eyes. This was as serious as he’d ever look, Lucina realised with dismay. 

“It’s good that it appears that way. I’d be a pretty lousy spy if my loyalty to the Shepherds was obvious.”

“Spy? You’re a spy?”

Lucina realised she was almost shouting. She put a hand over her mouth, casting her eyes around the room. The walls were lined with dark bricks that didn’t match any walls she remembered inside the castle. No windows, no doors. Just a distant dripping noise from a leak in the ceiling, and plenty of wooden furniture, most of which held books and equipment for making potions. 

“No one’ll hear us, don’t you worry,” Henry chuckled. “I enchanted this room myself to be perfectly soundproof. You could pull out a man’s teeth with white hot tongs and no one would hear him scream.”

Lucina wearily eyed the reddish stains on the floor near the corners. Did Henry know this from experience?

“So you... you’ve been helping the Shepherds?” she asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“I certainly hope so. The birds I’ve been sending them better not have been for nothing! They never come back after, and I do miss them so. Soon I’ll have to be making some more from the servants or I’ll go positively mad from loneliness!”

“But how long has this been going on for? Why didn’t you tell any of us?”

“Lady Lucina, when you dance so closely with death, you don’t announce your every move. I may enjoy a bit of danger, but even I shudder at the thought of what the Fell Dragon would do to me if he were to discover my ploy. The less people who know, the better.”

Lucina tensed when she heard something jumping around within one of the crates in the corner. Henry shook his head fondly and moved to his bench of potions. He selected a vial with the same colouring as the dawn sky and popped the cork off. 

“As for your other question, I was Chrom’s man since day one. I love Tharja with all my heart, never you doubt it, but even I can see she has lost her way. The Fell Dragon will leave the world uninhabitable for all, even those who follow him.”

Henry went to the jerking crate and opened a small hatch on the top. He poured the vial in. Lucina expected the contents would be liquid, but the potion came out in flakes, like drifting snow. Whatever was inside the crate fell still. 

“The only way I can save her is if Grima is defeated, and his hosts destroyed. It’ll break her heart, sure, but better to lose that than your soul.”

Lucina realised she was still holding the cup. The contents had cooled significantly since it’d been given to her, and the brew was beginning to clot. She set it on the table beside her bed. 

“Oh dear,” Henry tutted, eyes on it. “Has that one gone cool? I’ll fetch you another.”

“No!” Lucina exclaimed, too quickly. “I mean... defeat Grima? Do you really think it can be done?”

“I believe so,” Henry smiled. “And what’s more, I think you’ll be the one to do it.”

“Me?” Lucina spluttered. “No, surely you’re mistaken. It’ll be my father. It’ll be Chrom!”

“Chrom will falter.”

Lucina felt her face grow hot. Her father was a descendant of the Hero King himself. She had heard his allies tell stories about how he’d faced down entire armies single handedly, how he’d thrown himself before arrows for his friends, how his judgement had never been clouded by prejudice or greed. She knew in her heart that he was the one who would save them all from the Fell Dragon. It couldn’t be her. 

“Ooh, look at all the blood in your face,” Henry said happily. “I’m sorry princess, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that I fought alongside Chrom in the day. And Robin. You never saw two men more faithful to each other. I swear, if they hadn’t settled down with wives then I’d almost think... but like I was saying, Chrom will falter. Grima wears the face of his best friend. He will not be able to kill Robin. But you will. You who possess the blood of the Exalted line. It can only be you now princess. No other remains.”

Lucina’s shoulders drooped as she stared at the stained floorboards. _No other remains_. Why did Henry have to dance around the truth? She knew what he was saying. If Chrom couldn’t wield the Falchion against Robin, then it had to be her. _Because her brother is dead._

“Here. Princess, you need to drink this.” Another cup of foul brew was pressed into her hands. She took it numbly. “We cannot lose you too. But there is no way out of the castle. So if you must remain here, you must hide. This potion will do that for you.”

“What, it’ll make me invisible?” Lucina said bitterly. 

“No. It’ll transform your appearance. Tharja has a very meek serving girl who tends to her room. If you drink this you’ll look like her.”

“And what about the real serving girl?”

Henry jerked his thumb in the direction of the crate that had been moving earlier. 

“I turned her into a crow. She won’t be getting in your way.”

Lucina felt herself beginning to protest at the treatment of the poor girl, but then she realised if they set her free it’d probably be her in that crate instead. Besides, Henry seemed like the type of person who treated animals better than people. And this way, Lucina would be able to help Henry gather information for her father. Finally, she’d be able to help him. _And get revenge on the dastards who sent her little brother to his death..._

“Okay then,” she said, eyeing the brew with conviction. “I’ll drink it.”

As she tipped it towards her face, the smell grew fouler and stronger. Her first mouthful felt warm and lumpy, like swallowing vomit. But she didn’t recoil. She opened her throat and drank it all. For Ylisse. For Chrom. _For Inigo_.

*

“So much for the mountains, eh?” Nah teased. 

“Shut up.”

“What was it you said earlier? If anything bad happens to him it’s his own stupid fault? You changed your tune so fast I’m surprised your conscience doesn’t have whiplash.”

Gerome didn’t answer, his attention more focused on the ground below than Nah’s gloating voice. Inigo was easy to track, thanks to that blue hair of his. He was still heading away from the village, now with a carefree bounce to his steps that he definitely hadn’t had before the encounter with the bandits. What kind of person didn’t get scared out of their wits after something like that? Why wasn’t he turning back?

“How long are we going to keep this up for?” Nah asked. “Because if it’s for the entire duration of his wandering, then can’t we just walk with him on the ground? I’m getting tired.”

“No you’re not.”

“I am! It’s so much more tiring flying slowly like this. Come on Gerome, let’s just land and we can all walk together instead of following like a couple of creepy stalkers!”

“We’re not following him!”

“Then what exactly are we doing?”

Gerome pressed his lips into a thin line. They were just heading in the same direction as Inigo, that was all. Quite the coincidence really. And the slow pace he was making Nah fly at? He was just keeping an eye out for somewhere decent to camp. After all, the sun was about to start setting. He wasn’t about to make Nah fly through the night. 

“It’s okay you know,” Nah said lowly. “I’m not going to think less of you if you admit that you’re a tiny bit attached to him. We’ve known each other for far too long for something like you having normal human emotions to get in the way of our friendship, right?”

“Are you still prattling on about that fool?” Gerome sighed. 

“No, I stopped talking about you quite some time ago actually.”

This was exactly the reason why Gerome hated talking to Nah while they were in the air. At least on the ground he could walk away the second she started to annoy him, but up here he was her captive. His only choices were to stop talking (but he knew this wouldn’t stop her from saying more ludicrous things), or to jump. He peered over her side, at the ground directly below them. Right now the fall was looking mighty welcoming...

“Oh Naga no!” Nah suddenly exclaimed.

She dropped from the air slightly, whatever she’d seen horrific enough to make her wings tense. Gerome’s head snapped back up.

“What is it?”

“Didn’t you see? Oh gods you didn’t, did you! Of all the moments to take your eyes off him Gerome!”

Gerome craned his neck to spy Inigo, but the prince was nowhere in sight. He felt his head begin to spin, hands tightening their grip on Nah’s back. Where was he? What terrible situation had he gotten himself into now? Damn it, he knew he should have made Nah swoop down and carry him back to the village while they’d had the chance!

“This is horrible Gerome!” Nah wailed dramatically. “I can’t believe it! How could you let this happen? How!”

“Shut up!” Gerome hissed, and there was actual venom behind his words. 

Finally, his eyes caught a glimpse of blue peeping through the leaves of one of the trees. Inigo lay sprawled on his front below it, unconscious. His arms were spread wide as if he’d been taken by surprise. 

“Take us down!” Gerome ordered, and Nah swiftly obliged. 

He tensed his legs as they neared the ground, and at the first chance he got, Gerome leapt off Nah’s back. He was running towards the tree before the dragon had even landed, sword drawn to fight off whatever foul creatures had ambushed Inigo. However, their surroundings remained quiet and seemingly empty. Gerome gritted his teeth, eyes darting over to Inigo’s form, and then back to their surroundings. Nothing moved in the trees. He did not sense the gaze of a concealed foe upon him. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?

“Is he alive?” Nah asked, keeping her distance. “Quick Gerome! You might need to give him mouth to mouth!”

“Watch my back!” Gerome hissed, thinking that Nah’s raised voice might work at drawing their enemy towards them. 

He slunk closer to Inigo, the earth crunching beneath his footfalls, until he was finally close enough to kneel at the prince’s side. He quickly glanced to Nah, whose eyes were still wide with distress, and then touched Inigo’s shoulder.

“Inigo?” he said gently, but the prince didn’t stir. 

Gods, Gerome thought, what if he was dead? Ylisse’s only male heir to the throne killed on his watch. If his parents were here they’d scream in his face. But no, Inigo’s shoulder had been warm under his palm. That meant he was alive, right?

“Inigo!” Gerome said louder, and pushed him onto his back. 

“What in Naga’s name are you doing?!” Inigo exclaimed, bolting into a sitting position and swatting Gerome’s hands away. 

But Gerome’s heart was beating far too fast for him to give a sensible answer. He swatted back at Inigo’s soft hands, like a cat grabbing for string. His body was crammed with adrenalin. That was the reason his hands were shaking, he told himself. Not from relief that Inigo was alive.

“What am I doing? What are _you_ doing?” Gerome demanded. 

“No! Don’t even try to make it sound like I’m the one doing something weird here! I was asleep! You’re the one who came over and started... started _man-handling_ me!”

“Asleep? Here!”

Gerome wanted to scream at whatever deity had thought it funny to cross his path with that of this hopeless idiot. He would sleep beside the _road_? The road which every bandit had to take at some point on their quest to plunder? The road which provided no shelter from the wind or rain? Had he no sense! To think Inigo had been mortified at awakening to Gerome cutting open his shirt. It was a miracle he didn’t always wake robbed of his clothing.

“Is he alright?” Gerome heard Nah ask.

“I don’t know,” Inigo said. 

Gerome realised he was gaping at the sky. He slowly shut his mouth, trying to make it look as though he’d just been yawning, and gradually lowered his gaze to Nah. The dragon’s eyes were not watery with relief. She was not curling herself around Inigo and shouting thanks to whatever greater force has spared him from the horrifying thing she’d claimed to have seen. 

Straight away, Gerome knew what had happened. She’d seen the prince settle down to sleep and used it as an excuse for them to rush to his side. And now he looked like the fool. Any attempt to call her out on her treachery would undeniably result in his reaction being twisted to make it seemed like he cared about Inigo. But what other reason had he had for racing down here like that? A sense of duty? No? Then _what_?

“So is resting by the road not a good idea?” Inigo asked in a silky voice, resting a finger under his lips and tilting his head. 

“It’s not,” Gerome growled. “And what’s more, I think you know it’s not!”

“Oh do I now?” Inigo grinned, shifting onto his knees. 

“Yes.” Gerome realised he was still unnecessarily close to Inigo. Close enough to feel his warmth in the space between them, to smell the musky yet floral scent that the boy seemed to exude. He stood and backed away. 

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that my other plans are no good as well?”

“What plans?” Gerome demanded. 

“I was going to make myself a tasting platter of all the different mushrooms I find growing along the road. And maybe I’ll do one for berries too, if that goes well. Then I was...”

Gerome knew Inigo was joking with him. He had to be. But there was still the small possibility that he wasn’t. Honestly, after everything else he’d seen the prince do, it wouldn’t surprise Gerome if next time he rushed to Inigo’s aid it would be to swat a poisonous mushroom from his hand. 

No. Gerome’s fingers curled at his side as Inigo continued to speak. Saying something now about a tavern, and a lady bandit, and then something about a horse and a saddle. Gerome wasn’t paying enough attention to follow, but judging by the way Nah kept snorting with amusement, he guessed it was all equally nonsensical. One big joke to keep wasting their time with ensuring his safety. To stop them from getting to their new home. Gerome had had enough. 

Slowly, he lowered his pack and reached inside, careful not to draw Inigo’s attention. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He’d only brought essentials, after all. 

“Yep, yep, yep.” Inigo shook his head, lips still curled. “That’s what I’ll be doing the moment you leave again. I really wish I was with someone sensible who could keep me from poisoning myself or running into trouble, but oh well.”

“Put your hands together,” Gerome told him.

“What, like this?” Inigo placed his palms flat against each other, holding them out like he was begging. “Why?”

Gerome seized the opportunity and tied his wrists together with the rope he’d retrieved from his pack. There wasn’t much to do in the mountains, so he’d spent many an evening amusing himself by tying the same piece of rope again and again, each time trying to be faster than his previous attempt. Thanks to this practise, he had the prince’s hands bound together before he could say ‘oh’. 

“Interesting,” Inigo said, trying to separate his wrists. He couldn’t. “I’m not really into this sort of thing though.”

“What are you doing?” Nah sighed. “Geez Gerome. Every time I think you’ve done the weirdest thing possible to this poor kid, you go and outdo yourself.”

“He’s clearly got a death wish,” Gerome said, tying the other end of the rope around his own waist. “So we’ll take him back to the port by force. Put an end to this nonsense once and for all.”

He gave the rope a sharp tug, causing Inigo to fall forwards onto his front. The prince managed to prop himself up again, lips twisted in disapproval. Clearly he’d expected this encounter to end differently. 

“Don’t bother,” he snapped. “I’ll just leave again.”

“Then we’ll fly you to Valm ourselves.” Gerome tugged on the rope again, trying to encourage Inigo to stand. But the prince just let himself fall on his face again. 

“Nah, do something.” Inigo’s voice was small and desperate. 

But Gerome knew Nah wouldn’t interfere. He could tell from the way she was watching him that she disapproved of his methods, but she wanted Inigo out of this war as much as he did. Gerome snorted at the thought. When had that started being something he wanted?

“Come on,” Gerome grunted. “Stand.”

Inigo lifted his face from the ground. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek now. Gerome felt his fingers twitching with the urge to wipe it away. The prince was glaring at him darkly, as if Gerome were the enemy. Had this been anyone else, Gerome’s blood would definitely be pumping fast in anticipation for a fight. 

“I said stand,” he repeated slowly. “ _Please_.”

When Inigo still wouldn’t comply, Gerome marched to his side, intending to lift him himself. However, Inigo had clearly been waiting for this. As soon as Gerome stretched out his arm, the prince drove his shoulder into his chest. Gerome was knocked off his feet, taken by surprise. Inigo staggered to his feet and ran. 

Gerome took his time sitting up. Had Inigo forgotten where the other end of that rope was tied? Sure enough, the prince only managed eight strides before Gerome felt the rope tug tightly at his waist, and Inigo was jerked to an unwelcome halt. Using the force, Gerome stood. He grabbed the rope and began to pull, as if he were bringing in a fishing line. The prince dug his heels into the dirt, but he had no hope of matching Gerome’s strength. 

“Sure,” Gerome said to Nah, who’d settled down on the grass and was watching them as if this was a game, and not an attempt to save Inigo’s life. “Don’t bother helping.”

By this time, Inigo had clearly realised he wouldn’t be able to pull away from Gerome. He changed his tactic, running to the side instead. Gerome hung onto the rope as Inigo ran around him in circles. 

“This is childish, Inigo,” he sighed. 

Inigo was getting closer to him now, but still running. Gerome felt something tightening around his back. He looked over his shoulder and saw the rope clinging to him in spirals. Every circle Inigo made around him added a new loop. 

“Wait a minute!” Gerome exclaimed, releasing his grip on the rope. 

But it was bound to him now, along with the tops of his arms. He couldn’t move. And Inigo didn’t look like he would stop until they were both bound face to face. Grimacing with the effort, Gerome forced his forearms down to his belt, where he normally had a small knife concealed. With a quick movement, he drew it out and sliced the ropes simultaneously. But now Inigo was free, and the prince wasted little time in putting distance between them. He darted into the trees. 

“Inigo, wait!” Gerome shouted after him, brushing the lingering rope from his shoulders. “Inigo!”

He sped after him, confident that he’d be able to catch up. But damn, the prince was surprisingly light on his feet. He felt the shade cool his skin as he passed the first tree.

“Go away!” he heard Inigo shout from ahead. 

“Damn it Inigo! I’m trying to protect you!”

Gerome pushed back a low hanging branch, the leaves catching in his hair. This deep into the trees, the bushes grew almost to his shoulders. He’d lost sight of Inigo, but he could still hear the prince’s breath coming in desperate pants, hear the grass crunching under every footfall.

“I don’t want protection!” Inigo yelled. “I want to fight!”

“Inigo...”

“You have no idea what it’s like!”

Gerome pushed through two high bushes and found himself inside a clear circle of trees. The site was probably used by travelers to make camp. It was a good spot. There was plenty of shelter from the wind, a canopy to duck under in case it began to rain, and perfectly flat ground. Heck, even the trees were perfect for climbing into in case a predator appeared in the night. 

Gerome was so busy appreciating the site that he forgot he was trying to keep up with someone. But luckily Inigo had also stopped. The prince was standing at the other side of the clearing, hands balled into fists while his shoulders shook. His face was red with fury.

“My whole life I’ve been protected!” Inigo hissed. “I’ve cowered and hidden while everyone I love has put themselves in harm’s way and done all the fighting for me. Even Grima kept me locked away like something precious. I was too little to fight when the war started, but now there’s no excuse in my heart. You have no idea what I’m capable of. I am not Grima’s pet! I am not your burden! I am a Prince of Ylisse and I will fight and die like one!”

Gerome watched in silence as Inigo tried to catch his breath. He so badly wanted to believe Inigo was right - that he was capable of more than Gerome had given him credit for, that he could find his father and make a difference in this war. But looking at the prince before him, he knew it couldn’t be the case. Inigo wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t a healer. And he wasn’t aware that all this running had reopened the wound on his stomach. 

“You’re bleeding,” Gerome said. 

“I think I’ll live,” Inigo sneered. 

Gerome resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. Inigo took a cautious step towards him, ready to flee again the moment the masked man reached for more rope. 

“I’ll ask again,” he said. “Take me to the Shepherds.” 

“No.”

Inigo’s shoulders fell.

“ _Please_ take me.”

“I said no! Even if we could find them, Nah and I have more important matters to attend to.”

“What, like running away to hide in some mountains? You’re a coward, Gerome.”

“Careful,” Gerome warned, arms tensing. 

“Well you are. And I don’t care if hearing it makes you angry because it’s the truth. Your parents were Shepherds, right? They gave their lives to protect this land, and you want to repay them by letting Grima plunge it into darkness? You do realise that if he wins their deaths were in vain, right?”

Gerome kept his mouth shut. Of course, it was only natural for Inigo to assume both of his parents were dead. Why else would he be on his own? He lowered his eyes to Inigo’s. They’d grown wide in the face of such bitter silence. Clearly he recognised he’d touched on a sensitive topic. Gerome’s eyes went lower, to the exposed bandage that was gradually growing redder and redder. Seeing the blood spreading bothered him.

“We’ll sleep on it,” Nah said.

Gerome didn’t even bother spinning around to see where the manakete had emerged from. As usual, her timing was impeccable. Inigo’s expression brightened at her words. Fine. Let him be happy about it. That was as close to a yes as he was going to get from them. 

“Now please let me change that bandage,” Gerome finally said.

Inigo looked at his stomach and noticed the blood for the first time. His eyebrows pinched together. 

“When did that happen?” he said, but Gerome was already fishing some fresh bandages out of his pack. 

Too bad this clearing didn’t have a little stream or somewhere for him to get water from. 

“I’ll go get us some dinner then,” Nah said. “This is going to be fun. Just like old times: the three of us cuddled up together around a fire, Gerome avoiding his own feelings, me providing hilarious but insightful commentary. Try not to have anymore lovers’ quarrels while I’m gone, alright? I don’t want to miss out on anything good.”

“Just go!” Gerome exclaimed, eyes wide behind his mask. 

She really needed to stop making such insinuations. Soon Inigo might think there was actually some truth to them.

“Where do you want me?” Inigo asked. “Over there by the trees? Or here in the light?”

“Stay in the light,” Gerome said. 

The sun had almost set, but he should hopefully have Inigo cleaned up before it was completely gone. Damn, he should have made Nah light their fire before she left to hunt. And now he thought about it, he really shouldn’t be collecting firewood this close to dusk. What was happening to him? Simple survival tactics like that shouldn’t be slipping his mind...

Inigo slipped his shirt off his shoulders, and Gerome forgot why exactly he’d been so annoyed about anything. Of course, he’d seen Inigo without his shirt on before. But that was when he’d been curled up against Nah’s side, his skin loose because of the position. But now, standing tall in the dwindling sunlight, the skin was stretched taunt, and revealed the lean but toned muscles of his stomach. If Inigo didn’t fight, then what the hell did he do to earn such a physique?

“Er... shall I sit, or lie down, or...” Inigo blushed, looking down at his hands. 

Gerome was tempted to ask him to lie down, just so he could stare at him sprawled on the ground... he mentally slapped himself. He really wasn’t thinking straight today.

“Sit, but lean back on your arms so I can get to the wound properly,” Gerome said, looking back to the pack to get his water skin out. 

Maybe it would help him focus if he poured some over his head?

Inigo did as he was asked, and Gerome carefully began to unwind the old bandage. He was careful not to touch him, painfully aware of how cold his fingers were and how warm the air around Inigo was. Inigo kept looking around, first at the forest, then at the sky, then the forest again. At least Gerome wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with the situation. 

“So,” Inigo finally said, risking a glance at Gerome. “You’re quite handy, aren’t you.”

Gerome wasn’t sure if that was a comment about the movement of his hands. Had he been unwinding the bandage too rough? He was trying to be careful. 

“By which I mean useful!” Inigo hastily filled in the silence. “You can dress a wound, you know how to find shelter. You can hunt and fight and track. It’s a pretty good skill set to have.”

“I guess,” Gerome said, throwing the old bandage aside and taking the cork from his water skin. 

He would be much more careful about pouring it on his wound this time. Who knew when they’d come across somewhere to refill it. 

“Did your father teach you to do all that?” Inigo asked.

Gerome’s hand slipped, but luckily not too much water was spilled. He dried Inigo off with a cloth, glad to see there wasn’t as much blood as last time he’d done this. 

“No,” Gerome said. 

“Oh?” Inigo raised an eyebrow, inviting him to elaborate. 

Gerome sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about his father right now. But if he didn’t then Inigo might start talking about his, and dear Naga he didn’t want the other man getting emotional right now. It was awkward enough comforting people when they were fully clothed. 

“My mother taught me,” Gerome said, beginning to wrap the new bandage. “My father wasn’t around much.”

“Ah, story of my life,” Inigo grinned. 

“He went to Ylisstol for most of the year and only came back to drop off money or food. I think he had another family there.”

“Oh.” Inigo’s eyebrows shot up behind his fringe. “Like his sister’s family or his brother’s family or...?”

“No. I mean more like a second wife and child.”

Inigo grimaced and began looking at the forest and sky again. Gerome watched him carefully. As another child of Ylisstol, it was possible Inigo had met his rivals for his father’s affection. Maybe he was best friends with them. Or maybe they were now dead. 

“There,” Gerome said, tying the bandage in a tight not. “Try not to open it again.”

“Well I wouldn’t have done it that time if _someone_ hadn’t been trying to tie me up.”

Gerome was glad Nah wasn’t around to make a comment about this. He wondered how much longer she’d be. Maybe there was decent game in this forest, and she was stocking up for their trip. _Our trip,_ Gerome hastily reminded himself. _Inigo isn’t coming with us._ He looked to the prince, who was thankfully just doing the buttons of his shirt back up. He was gazing up at the sky, eyebrows pinched together with concern. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

Gerome cocked his head. Sure enough, he could hear heavy wingbeats. 

“It’s probably just Nah returning with the food,” he said. 

But then he saw a black shape in the sky, and it wasn’t a dragon. It was a wyvern. Gerome stood, feeling his throat clench with hope. Could it be...? Surely it had to be...? But it wasn’t. This wyvern had a rider. And it wasn’t alone. There were five of them, all mounted by what was surely a Risen, like the ones he’d fought in the mountains. Were they just passing over? No. He heard a shout from one of the riders, and then the five wyverns were diving towards the clearing. 

“Go!” Gerome shouted at Inigo, but the prince was frozen in horror.

His hands were still on his buttons, his mouth open as if he’d been stabbed. Gerome grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, dragged him to his feet. His other hand went to his sword. 

“Inigo! Run!”

Inigo blinked owlishly at him. But then he seemed to grasp what Gerome was saying, what he wanted him to do. He stumbled towards the trees. Gerome swept his eyes over the approaching wyverns, hand still on his sword as he followed behind the prince as closely as he could. There was no doubt in his mind. They were here for Inigo.

But there was no way in hell they were going to get him. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

_Run. Run. Run._

One foot in front of the other. Again and again. Ignore the breaths that burned down his throat. If he stopped he was dead. If he tripped he was dead. Oh who was he kidding. There were five of them. They were already dead. 

“Keep going!” Gerome yelled from behind him. 

Inigo wanted to. He really wanted to. But every step he took tugged at the edges of his wound. He was afraid if he kept running it’d get torn open again. _More than that will get torn open if you stop!_ But there was no way they’d outrun those wyverns. The more they ran, the less energy they’d have to put into a fight. And there would be a fight, Inigo had little doubt about that. 

How had they found him? Was it by chance? Or had they been sent? He bit his lip at the thought. No. He wasn’t ready for Grima to know he was alive. This was supposed to be his chance to find the Shepherds and he hadn’t done _anything_ yet! 

Inigo heard Gerome’s footfalls quickening behind him. All he could hear of the wyverns was the distant snapping of branches and the occasional screech of excitement. Gerome was beside him now. Damn, that man could move. And he was carrying a big, heavy axe. Inigo felt like he was sweating buckets, and all he carried was the clothes on his back. 

“Inigo!” Gerome shouted at him, obviously sensing he was tiring. 

Inigo wanted to slap himself. How could he call himself a dancer when he couldn’t even make it a few miles without breaking down? He shook his head at Gerome, too exhausted to even form words. Instead he made a weak gesture for Gerome to keep running. To leave him behind.

They’d kill Gerome. They’d definitely kill him. But Inigo was the one they were after. He might be luckier. Gerome scowled at him. Inigo felt an especially sharp pain shoot through his side. It made him stop, bending over to gasp down lungfuls of air. To his horror, Gerome also stopped. 

“No,” Inigo wheezed. “They’ll-”

Gerome took him by the arm and pulled him aside. This part of the forest looked like it’d been hit by a storm. The ground was littered with whole branches, bark was peeling off the trees to expose their pale wood. One tree had been snapped cleanly in half, leaving the leafy top to hang limply beside the trunk. What in Naga’s name had happened here? 

Inigo didn’t have time to ask. Gerome pushed him towards the snapped tree, and then kept pushing him until the leaves were scraping across Inigo’s cheeks. Soon they were both concealed within the mass of greenery, the distant sound of the wyverns lost amongst the rustling around them. 

Being surrounded by cool leaves was a welcome relief for Inigo’s hot skin. He shut his eyes and let his forehead fall against Gerome’s shoulder, concentrating on keeping his breathing quiet. He heard metal scraping as Gerome repositioned his axe, ready to attack the moment they were found. In the little light that seeped through the gaps in the leaves, he saw the masked man turn to him. 

“The first chance you get, run.” 

Inigo shook his head. 

“I’m sorry...”

“Run. Don’t be a fool, Inigo. There’s nothing you can do.”

_Don’t be a fool, little prince. There’s nothing you can do._

Inigo shook his head roughly. It wasn’t enough. The similarity between Gerome’s words and those that the Fell Dragon had spoken through Morgan all that time ago had already chilled him. His heart began to pound faster. He didn’t realise his hands were grasping tightly to Gerome’s arm. 

_“Put down the sword, little prince. What harm do you think you can do to me? Your father is dead. Your kingdom has fallen. Your precious Naga has abandoned you.”_

_“No!”_

An entire tree crashed to the forest floor somewhere outside. Gerome’s arm tensed under Inigo’s fingers. He held on tighter, afraid that he would spring out and attack at the first chance he got. 

“No, please,” Inigo whispered, though he wasn’t sure what he was begging for. 

Please don’t fight them? Please save yourself? Please leave me behind? _Please don’t let them find us._ Gerome gave him a look that told him to be silent. There was no more snapping outside. Inigo held his breath, eyes fixated on the little gaps he could see between the leaves...

_Crash!_

He’d been expecting the wyverns to pull back the fallen part of the tree that concealed them, but that wasn’t the case. The remaining trunk was torn from the ground, making the earth shake. Inigo raised his arms to shield his face from the shower of stone and dirt. The screeching was right in his ears, followed by a sound like thunder as the tree was dropped and shattered into splinters all around them. 

But while Inigo stood motionless, Gerome had already sprung into action. Inigo gasped as he watched the masked man swing his axe at the nearest wyvern, but its rider moved his own axe to block the attack. Gerome ducked, narrowly avoided the wyvern’s snapping jaws, but two more wyverns were approaching from behind now, while the other two...

Inigo shouted in alarm as the other two wyverns swooped down at him, trying to pluck him from the ground. He rolled out of the way of the first one, but the second one’s talon closed around his arm. Snatching a rock from the ground, he slammed it against the talon as hard as he could. They wyvern screamed, releasing him but leaving three red wounds in its place. Inigo struggled to his feet, rock still held tightly in his hand.

By some miracle, Gerome was still alive. He’d sliced one of the wyverns along its neck and disarmed its rider, but the other two were still toying with him. It was like watching a wild animal fighting against hunters. The way he moved, the way he was crouched, the way he held his axe and bared his teeth, spinning to face a new opponent every time he spotted movement from the corner of his eye... it was a sight to behold. Inigo knew it couldn’t last. 

“Hey!” he shouted, throwing his rock.

It struck one of the wyverns on the head, making the beast arch its neck to hiss at him. Gerome seized the opportunity. He lunged and buried his axe in its neck. With a shriek, the creature burst into a pile of dust and bones. Inigo grinned, blood pumping with exhilaration. So this was why his father always spoke of past battles with such fond joy? Gerome met his eyes, clearly feeling the same way. But then his face went pale.

Something struck Inigo hard in the side. His body was lifted for a brief moment, during which his head felt weightless and dazed. But then he came crashing down against hard stone. The force rattled his entire form, pain flaring along his back. His limbs felt too heavy to lift as he lay sprawled on his front, the taste of blood slowly seeping into his mouth. 

A Risen rider loomed over him, mouth stretched in a horrific grin. Inigo knew he should be terrified, but all he could do was think _you’re not the one I wanted to sweep me off my feet_. 

“Inigo! Stay down!”

Of course, hearing this made him want to lift his head to see what the commotion was about. It was a good job it felt too heavy to lift, because Gerome’s axe sailed through the air. It struck the Risen perfectly in the chest, the blade slicing clean through and pinning the Risen into the chest of the wyvern behind it. Both beast and rider, felled by one shot. Inigo would have applauded, but then a sickening thought struck him. _What’s Gerome using as a weapon now?_

He rolled onto his front, peering up groggily at the scene before him. The other wyvern that had been pestering him had joined the others. All three of them were surrounding Gerome. And all he had was a knife. Inigo’s mouth went dry. _No._

“Inigo! Run!” Gerome shouted at him. “Get up and get moving! Now!”

_But I can’t leave you!_ Inigo thought he was saying this out loud, but his words stayed in his head. He could still taste blood. Gerome snarled at the closest Risen, and they moved closer. Inigo lost sight of him. 

_There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing you can do..._

“No!” 

Inigo shook his head, shook away the thoughts and fears that plagued him. He wasn’t going to let this happen. He’d done nothing last time, but this time he wasn’t powerless. This time there was something he could do.

He spat the sticky contents of his mouth into the dirt and hauled himself up. It hurt terribly, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. It didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was the masked man standing in the midst of the damned. Inigo’s ears were ringing by the time he was finally upright. He felt the ground lurch underneath him, but his foot moved forward to steady himself before he could think about it. He imagined he could still hear Grima’s mocking voice in his head.

_“What do you think you’re doing, little prince? You can’t honestly believe you can save him.”_

Inigo’s body shifted into the starting position he’d been taught. Arms bent together and in front of him, feet turned to the side, one foot before the other. It always started like this. It was a routine that had been drilled into him ever since Grima decided it would be beneficial to hone his talent for his own use. 

_“You think that will work, little prince? You and I both know you are not a true dancer. You’re not like your mother. You’ve never succeeded in giving others strength, like she has.”_

That was true. He had never danced perfectly, like Olivia did. There was always a slip or a stumble. But he’d never performed willingly before either. He’d never tried to dance to save someone he cared about. This time would be different. He could feel it. 

“Gerome!” he screamed, as loud as he could. 

Seven pairs of eyes turned towards him. Too late to change his mind now. He exhaled steadily through his mouth, lowering his arms and bringing them towards his stomach. _Gerome._ _This is for you._ He shut his eyes and began to dance.

 

Was Inigo... _dancing_?! 

Despite his quiet demeanor, Gerome considered it quite a task to render him speechless. And yet here he was now. Readying himself to fight to the death, clinging to the hope that maybe Nah would find them, or find Inigo at least, get him to safety, give him a decent burial if there was time. But then he’d heard Inigo shout his name. Then he suddenly wasn’t the center of the wyvern’s attention anymore. And now... this. Inigo dancing. Why was he dancing?!

It wasn’t that he was bad at it. Far from it. Gerome had never seen anyone move with such grace. Every movement of his arm, every spin, every stretch of his leg... at any other time Gerome would be happy to sit and watch for hours (not that he’d admit this out loud). But that was exactly the problem. _Any other time_. Why was Inigo dancing _now_? When they were possibly about to be killed. When he should have been _running_! 

Gerome felt foolish when he realised he had completely forgotten about the wyverns around him. He hadn’t been paying any attention to them. They could have killed him already. And why hadn’t they? Because they were as transfixed upon the sight of Inigo dancing as he was. As he watched, they were slowly turning their bodies away from him. They were slowly breaking the tight circle they’d formed around him. They were slowly moving towards Inigo, who was completely oblivious to the world around him if his closed eyes and peaceful expression were anything to go by. It was like watching hunters sneaking up on a sleeping swan. 

Something hot burst in Gerome’s chest. He felt it flowing into every corner of his body. His fingers tightened around his knife. It suddenly felt bothersome to be standing so still. The wyverns appeared to him now to be lumbering, silly creatures. The knife in his hand was more than capable of stopping their movements. He could almost envision killing them all, how easy it would be, how effortless. He could cut their throats and dance out of the way of their talons as effortlessly as Inigo danced now. 

The idea sent a thrill up his spine. It was a great idea, an exciting idea! He would do it! Before they reached Inigo. Gritting his teeth, Gerome got to work. He started to run and boy, he’d never felt so light on his feet. The air around him felt like it was pushing him along, rushing him to Inigo’s side. The wyverns were too slow to stop him, too stupid to see his blade coming. He leapt, just to see how easy it would be, and cut a Risen’s throat while he was still mid-air. The wyvern it was riding didn’t even notice until he landed beside it. 

Its jaws snapped towards him, but the movement was stirring the air, and the air was his friend right now. It helped push him out the way. He didn’t go in for the kill, not just yet. He let the dumb creature have another attempt, this time snorting when it missed. He stabbed it in the eye and watched it squirm. The air felt like a lover’s caress against his lips as they curled in a smile. 

Fighting had never been this effortless. Fighting had never been this fun! He retrieved his knife from the pile of dust the wyvern had become and turned back to Inigo. He immediately saw he’d been careless. The other two were almost upon the dancer. He should have been horrified, but all he felt was excited at how interesting the challenge had just become. 

_How can I think this? What has happened? This isn’t who I am!_

Yet his pounding heart begged to differ. He wanted to scream at Inigo to _open his eyes dammit!_ but that would ruin the game. Plus a part of his mind warned that when Inigo stopped the fun would end. One of the Risen reached out a hand for him. Gerome lunged to stop it.

“Inigo!”

 

_“Mama, how do you dance so pretty? You’re the most prettiest dancer I’ve ever seen. I want to dance like you do. Will you teach me?”_

_“Of course, my little flower. But I’m not that great, not really.”_

_“Oh Mama, sometimes you’re so silly.”_

_“Look who’s talking.”_

_He giggles as her soft hands find the tender spots around his stomach. He squirms in delight, while her gentle laugh mixes with his high squeals. But then he hears other sounds that don’t belong here. Roaring and ripping. Someone shouting. Trees rustling. But they’re not near trees. They’re amongst the flowers in the royal garden, just Mama and him. He pretends he doesn’t hear the sounds and swipes at the long strand of pink hair that has escaped from behind Mama’s ear._

_“One day, I want to dance just like you.”_  

_“Look at you, making your mother blush like this. I’m sure one day you’ll be a fantastic dancer. But you have to understand, sweetie. The way I dance isn’t like the way other people dance.”_

_“I know that, Mama. Your dances are special.”_

_“My dances are dangerous.”_

_He doesn’t like the look that has slipped into her eye. It takes away her smile. He hears another one of those monstrous roars. He clings to her tighter._

_“I give men strength and power, but at great cost to myself. The energy it takes... I must be careful not to exhaust myself. It is difficult to stop once you start. You’ll understand one day, Inigo. When you dance, the rest of the world just slips away. You forget yourself.”_

_Was that his name he just heard, drifting in on the breeze? He tells himself to stop being stupid and to concentrate on Mama. She is more important._

_“If you ever dance like that, make sure you have something to come back to. Don’t forget about it, no matter how tempting the daydream of the dance may be.”_

_“What do you think of?”_

_“Why, you and your sister of course. And before that, your father. The people we love are always the best things to bring us back. You need to think of them too, Inigo.”_

_“I will, Mama. And I know it’s scary, but I still want to be as good a dancer as you.”_

_“My sweet boy. Don’t be as good as me. Be better.”_

“Inigo!”

_That sound definitely doesn’t belong here. Somehow, he can put a name to the voice._

_“Shut up, Gerome!” he shouts back._

_But who is Gerome? Gerome doesn’t belong here, in the palace garden. Gerome is somewhere surrounded by wyverns and trees, fighting with only a knife while he..._

_Oh._

_“This isn’t real, is it. I’m dancing right now. Proper dancing, like you were telling me about. I wish you could see it.”_

_But Olivia doesn’t answer anymore. She isn’t here either. No one is. It’s just him and the dance. And he knows he has to leave._

 

Gerome was forced to throw his knife because he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time. It went straight through the Risen’s hand, the same hand it was stretching out towards Inigo. Gerome realised that if he’d missed, it would have probably hit Inigo in the face and killed him. He should have been disgusted with his reckless behaviour. But it was making him win. 

The air helped him duck as the other Risen swung a blade towards his neck. He reached out and caught the foul creature’s wrist, breaking it with a clean snap. The weapon fell from its grasp and he scooped it up as he rose up from his crouch. A second later, the wyvern lost its head to its master’s blade. He knew he should hold onto the weapon. But the thought of killing the Risen before it had time to fall into the dust was too tempting. He threw the axe sideways, grinning as it sunk across the Risen’s stomach. If it hadn’t turned to dust immediately after dying, Gerome was sure he’d have seen the body cleaved in two. 

There was one Risen and wyvern left now. The one closest to Inigo, who had pulled the knife from his hand and thrown it somewhere Gerome couldn’t see. But Gerome didn’t care. One wyvern and rider was hardly a challenge when he felt like this. He waited patiently for the Risen to attack him, but it had other plans. He saw it reach out for Inigo again. But this time, Gerome was close enough. 

He reached out for the dancer as well. The air made him faster. It must have been working alongside Inigo too, because as he reached out, Inigo’s hand was moving in a graceful arc towards the same space. His hand entered Gerome’s. Gerome used it to pull him away from the Risen, gathering him into his arms, where it was safe.

_Big mistake!_ his mind screamed, and he soon realised why. 

The moment he pulled Inigo away, the moment he stopped dancing, the spell was ended. He could pinpoint the exact moment when his body lost the heat that had been coursing through it, and his limbs suddenly felt heavy and stiff. He was suddenly painfully aware of just how out of breath he was. It’d snuck upon him like a plague. 

Inigo’s eyes opened slowly, like he was waking up. They focused on Gerome for only a moment before rolling into the back of his head. The prince’s body went completely limp, and he would have fallen in a heap if Gerome hadn’t been holding him so tightly. It took his remaining strength to keep them both upright. 

“Inigo?” he said, shaking the still form. 

He was panting just as heavily as Gerome, which was odd. Although the dance had been beautiful and skilled and perfect, he didn’t think there was any reason why Inigo should be so tired. It wasn’t like he’d just been fighting three wyvern riders on his own. Speaking of wyvern riders...

Gerome looked up as he heard the last wyvern shriek. It lunged towards him, jaws open, teeth dripping. How could he have ever thought of this monster as lumbering and easy to kill? He turned his back on it, determined to shield Inigo’s unconscious body with his own. However, there was no need. He felt a flare of heat close to his back and heard the Risen’s dying cry. 

“What in Naga’s name happened here?” Nah demanded. 

They were saved. Gerome felt his knees go weak with relief. He sunk down slowly, so he was kneeling, and rested Inigo’s head on his lap. He was still unconscious. He swept the hair from his forehead while Nah nudged his back impatiently.

“Gerome? Gerome! Are you listening to me? What happened?”

“Risen,” he rasped. 

His mouth was dryer than he’d realised. He couldn’t remember if he’d left his pack when the Risen arrived or bought it with him.

“More of them? Dear Naga, I leave you alone for five minutes and this is what happens? How many were there?”

“Five wyverns and riders.”

“Five! There can’t have been! You’d be dead.”

He saw Nah’s pink head looming in his peripheral and heard her gasp. She’d finally spotted Inigo in his arms. Gerome supposed it was a good thing she’d seen the Risen herself. He could only imagine what sort of comments she’d make about finding them together, sweaty and breathless like they were now. 

“Is he... did they hurt him?”

Gerome shook his head. He’d attracted the worst of their wrath. He could feel blood dripping along his skin in several places, and his shoulder felt swollen and bruised. He wasn’t complaining though. It would have been worse tenfold if Inigo hadn’t started dancing...

Gerome frowned. What a strange thought. Was he really linking his sudden burst of energy to Inigo’s dancing? That wasn’t possible, was it? But he remembered the tales his mother had told him from her days in the Shepherds. The Queen, Olivia, possessed a unique gift that had aided the Shepherds in winning their wars. What had she told him? That Olivia’s dancing filled a man with strength and courage? Gerome had always assumed it was just an exaggeration, and that all she’d provided them with was the motivation to continue fighting. 

But what if it was more than that? What if she really had filled them with strength, like what he’d just experienced. What if Inigo had inherited that gift? 

“What is it?” Nah urged when Gerome inhaled sharply. 

Everything suddenly made perfect sense to him. Why Inigo had been in the midst of the ambush. Why Grima was desperate to recapture the prince. Why Inigo was so sure he could help the Shepherds once they found them.

"He's a Dancer."

And if Gerome could get him to Chrom, he could win the war for them. 

*

Chrom’s heart sunk as the black crow glided over the camp. The bird disappeared through the open flaps of the map tent, where he’d no doubt find it sitting on a perch. His mouthful of broth caught in his throat as he swallowed. Henry hadn’t sent a crow since he’d informed them that Inigo was going to be moved. What now? More bad news? He excused himself from his company around the fire and went to investigate. 

The crow’s perch was on a chest that they kept spare maps in. To get to it, Chrom had to walk around the large table that had maps and plans spread across it. Their battle plans for recapturing Ylisstol. He’d been formulating them for days now, driven by the burn of his grief. If he’d had the plans he had now on the day he’d learnt of Inigo’s death, he’d have acted on them that very night. March to the city. Attack the weak points in the wall. Take it back, reunite with what was left of his family. 

Now though, he realised what a foolish mistake that could have been. They couldn’t march yet. Not until the plans were perfect. Anything less than perfect and they could fail. He couldn’t risk the implications a failed attack would have for Olivia and Lucina. 

Squeezing around to the chest, Chrom carefully took the tiny white scroll from the crow’s leg. The bird flew away as soon as he’d untied the string, as they always did. Naga knows what Henry did to those crows... but he wasn’t going to ask questions he didn’t want to know the answer to. Drawing a deep breath, Chrom opened the scroll and read. 

The first word was enough to make his breath catch, to make his eyes water with tears of relief. He was glad to be alone to read this. _Father_.

 

_Father,_

_I hope with all my heart that this message reaches you safely. It is I, your daughter Lucina! I have escaped the tower Grima keeps me in, but not the castle. I have been told it is too dangerous to leave, but fear not, I am safe. Henry has enchanted me to look like one of the serving girls. I pass through the corridors of our home unnoticed. They think I am gone, but I’m still here, spying for you._

_I have wished for the longest time that I had some way to send you a message, and now that the opportunity presents itself, I feel I have too much to say for such a small scroll! I never gave up hope that you were alive. I am so very glad to learn that you are. I eagerly await the day that you are ready to reclaim the city. Until then, I do not want you to worry about us. Henry is protecting me, and mother is kept safely in the tower. We have not been harmed during our time here._

_I have been told that you are already aware of the tragedy. Please do not think it your fault, father. He would not want you to mourn. One day you and I will fight against the Fell Dragon alongside each other and avenge him. We will take back Ylisse and fill the royal gardens of Ylisstol with his favourite flowers. This I swear._

_All my love, until we are reunited,_

_Lucina_

 

Chrom ran his trembling fingers over the words. His little Lucina. She sounded so brave and strong now. He thought back to the young girl he’d left behind that day at the castle. She would be so much older now. He wondered how she’d grown, if she bore a resemblance to Emmeryn or his own mother. His fist tightened at his side. He would find out for himself. 

“Milord?”

Chrom hadn’t noticed Frederick lurking by the tent flaps. He was watching him with concern, no doubt assuming he’d returned to his days of desperate planning. Chrom ran his eyes over the current strategy that was laid out on the table. He’d rejected in because it wasn’t perfect. But he knew perfect was something they weren’t going to get. _Not without Robin._

“Give the order,” he said to Frederick. “First thing tomorrow, we march towards Ylisstol.”

His family was waiting for him. It was time.


End file.
